Sparrow's Lament
by JA Baker
Summary: Having taken her bloody vengeance on Lord Lucien, Sparrow finds herself alone and without a purpose in life. But then Theresa brings word of a resurgent ancient evil in distant Mordor, and a new destiny is forged...
1. Prologue: Instrument Of Fate

With thanks to shybob for beta-reading  
It's all owned by someone else  
Takes place after the end of the main quest in _Fable II_, assuming a virtues female hero,  
and that they chose The Sacrifice  
Very early in _Fellowship of the Ring_, film not book  
(never read the books)

**Sparrow's Lament  
****Prologue: Instrument Of Fate**

The _Cow and Corset_ was full almost to capacity, but few of the customers dared venture upstairs. A recently arrived traveller from a distant town asked loudly who she was, only to be hushed by the landlord and offered a free drink if he'd only keep his voice down. Some may have assumed this was because of the large, razor-sharp katana that lay amid a sea of empty bottles on the table before the figure who sat deep in the shadows, alone at the corner table, or the large, ornate crossbow that lay across their lap. But the truth was that it was a sign of respect. There wasn't a family in all of Bowerstone that hadn't been touched in some way by the choice made in the distant Spire not a year before, who didn't know of the sacrifice made for their happiness.

A blast of cold air heralded the opening of the door, and the barmaid looked round to see a tall, slender woman dressed in a red, hooded cloak enter the tavern from the dark street outside. The newcomer's face was in shadow, but there were two faint points of light indicating where her eyes were. She passed through the crowed without a word, even the drunkest of them knew instinctively to step out of her way, and made her way up the stair to the landing above.

"I said I didn't want to be disturbed." A hoarse voice came from the corner table, carrying the malevolence of distant thunder, "When I want another drink, I'll ask for it."

"This is not your destiny, Little Sparrow." The stranger strode purposefully across to the table and sat on an empty stool before adding, "Fate still has plans for you."

"I have no interest in destiny or fate." The figure at the table looked up, a pair of red eyes, cried-out eyes staring accusingly at their unwelcome companion, "And I am sick and tired of your games, Theresa, and I have repaid my debt to you in full."

"There is a new threat, coming from far to the west, beyond even the ruined cities and great deserts of Aurora." The Seer of the Spire spoke in hushed tones, "I have received word of a great evil, long dormant, reawakening and preparing for war once again. And while it may be distant, its reach is far, and if it succeeds, it will spread until all the lands of men have been ground beneath its feet."

"You have The Spire." Sparrow suggested as she reached for a tankard of ale, "You deal with it."

"Would you use a hammer to start a fire?" Theresa countered, wishing that she still had the unconditional trust of her former ward, "Or a sword to darn a sock?"

"I'm pretty sure I have." Sparrow giggled into her drink, "You learn lots of tricks, out on the road."

"There are some times when it is best to use subtlety over strength, guile over power," Theresa warned, "A meeting has been called to discuss the growing danger and the best way of dealing with it. I have been invited to attend, and would like for you to come with me." She paused. "Attend the meeting, and if you still feel the same, I will bring you home and we will not talk of it again."

"I know you; you love your little games." Sparrow put her drink down, her face blank and unreadable to anyone but the woman who had raised her as a daughter, "Your words are like honey, dripping into the ear, tempting you along until all of a sudden you find yourself dancing like a puppet." She lent across the table, "Was it in your power to save them... my family?"

"Yes..." Theresa admitted sorrowfully.

"_**Then why didn't you?**_" A fist slammed down on the table with enough force to splinter the wood. The entire tavern went suddenly quiet, with some of the more nervous patrons making for the door.

"Because doing so would have tipped my hand to Lord Lucien." Theresa did her best to retain her composure, even if her inaction that fateful night was one of the deepest regrets of her long life, "He needed to think he was in control, right up until the very end, otherwise it would have all been for nothing."

"The blood of my husband and daughter are on your hands, remember that." Sparrow stood slowly, bracing herself against the table to ward off the effects the alcohol she had consumed, "I'll go with you to your meeting, but if I do, I want your word that you will never call on me, ever again."

"If that is still your wish when we return, then so be it." Theresa pulled a small, glowing bottle from somewhere within her long robes and placed it on the table, "Drink this first; it will undo some of the ravages of time, giving you the strength you once had. Consider it payment for accompanying me on my travails."

"What have I to lose?" Sparrow grabbed the bottle and pulled the stopper out with her teeth, "To your health."

With that she upended the bottle down her throat, and everything turned black.

* * *

In the house of Elrond, Lord of Rivendell, there where were many rooms with views out over the river and gardens that surrounded it. However, of these only one was locked away, neither used or spoken of for almost a thousand years. For in its centre sat a Cullis Gate, before witch stood, for the first time in centuries, Elrond and Gandalf the Grey.

"I agree that we need allies to fight Sauron, but The Archon is long gone from his lands, his line spent and his kingdom in ruins." Elrond spoke softly, despite the edge to his voice, "What strength can there be in a land beset on all sides by darkness?"

"There is still a light in the darkness." Gandalf assured his host, "The Old Kingdom may ave fallen, but there are still those who stand against the darkness."

"Like the mysterious woman you have been in contact with?" The Elven lord asked, unconvinced, "I am still uneasy at the thought of inviting one neither of us have ever met, and know so little about, into my home."

"Sometimes it is necessary to act on faith." Gandalf nodded towards where the ancient blue and silver stones had started to glow softly, "No, let's get ready to greet our final guests."

Motes of light seemed to dance in the air above the Cullis Gate, swirling around faster and faster, until a blaze of golden light appeared, heralding the arrival of two women. The first was tall and slender, dressed in a hooded red and gold robe that showed off her natural beauty without looking cheap or scandalous. There was just enough light to show that under the hood she wore a red scarf over her eyes, her dark red hair hanging down to her shoulders.

Behind her stood a younger woman of around the same height, but of a more athletic build. She was dressed in a pair of thigh-high red leather boots, brown leather trousers and a white blouse with a blue, short-sleeved jacket on top. From her belt hung a long rapier with an ornate golden birds head on the hilt, while over her back was slung a large, powerful looking crossbow with the head and horns of a ram carved into the bodywork. Both weapons radiated magical power on their own, but they were almost lost behind the aura of power that radiated from the lady in red.

"Gandalf the Grey, I assume." The woman stepped forward, offering a hand in friendship, "And this must be Lord Elrond of Rivendell." She bowed before the Elf, "I thank you for welcoming us into your home at this darkest of times." She gestured for her companion to step forward, "This is Sparrow, my ward and most trusted aid."

"My Lords." The Hero of Bowerstone managed a polite nod to the two strangers, keeping her face as emotionless as she could.

The effects of the potion Theresa had given her had stripped away the passages of time, and her body felt as young and full of energy as it had when she had first set out to seek revenge against Lucien. Gone were the scars that she had received fighting bandits and balverines, as were the grey streaks in her normally dark brown hair and the lines on her face that she had born since her run in with the Shadow Court. Yet her eyes remained that of someone who had seen and done more than her fair share over the years, and this did not go unnoticed by her hosts.

"I welcome all who would take a stand against Sauron." Elrond bowed and gestured towards the door, "Come; the others are waiting."

* * *

The assembled members of the Council of Elrond sat talking amongst themselves as they waited for their host to arrive with their last member. Eyes darted to the vacant seat, wondering who would fill it. Of all the free lands of Middle Earth, only Rohan was unrepresented, yet few expected King Théoden to send an envoy so far from home. They fell silent as the Lord of Rivendell entered, followed by Gandalf and two human women, the elder of whom took up the empty seat. Her companion stood behind her with her arms crossed, a somewhat pained expression on her face.

"My apologies for the unexpected delay." Elrond stood before them, and quickly introduced the newcomers to the the assembled crowed before the debate started in earnest.

Sparrow let the conversation wash over her. It was of little interest to her beyond the fact that each second brought her one step closer to being free of Theresa for good. Instead she examined the others; the Elves were distant and aloof, ridged and inflexible, in many ways reminding her of Garth. In comparison the two dwarfs were an open book, wearing their emotions on their sleeves for all to see. Of the two Hobbits, Frodo and Bilbo Baggins, she did not know what to make; their stature was that of children, but their features where that of full grown men. Yet despite this they stood apart from the dwarfs in that they at first seemed timid, yet there was a sense of great strength within them.

But it was the two human men in attendance that held the most interest, and two more differing men could hardly be found. Both had the look of seasoned fighters, Aragorn was more composed and thoughtful, while Boromir was assertive to the point of arrogance. Yet despite this Sparrow felt a certain degree of kinship with them as fellow travellers along the same road. While neither had the unmistakable aura of a Hero as they were known in Albion, they were certainly heroic, which was in many ways all the more commendable. It was all too easy to be brave when one had the power of Will, Skill or Strength to call on, and quite another when you had no such advantages.

Then the Ring of Power that had brought them all so far was brought forward, and Sparrow felt a chill run through her veins. The light seemed to dim around it, and a hushed voice spoke in a strange tongue that seemed to hang in the air like storm clouds. She shivered involuntarily, and the voice vanished, the world returning to normal. Aside, that was, from the feeling in the very pit of her stomach that told her the Ring was pure, irredeemable evil. There was a momentary distraction as Gimli the Dwarf attempted to cleave the ring in half with an axe, only for the blade to shatter like a cheap plate. Then Elrond explained that the only way to destroy the ring was to take it back to where it had been forged, and a near riot broke out over who should take it.

Throughout all this, Theresa had remained silent, allowing the others to hurl accusations and insults at one another, until finally Frodo stood up and announced that he would carrying the Ring. Sparrow had been looking over towards Gandalf at the time, and there was an unmistakable look of relief on his face at the young Hobbit's words, almost as if he had been holding his breath in wait of them. Aragorn stood and pledged his sword to the defence of Frodo, followed quickly by Legolas the Elf, which prompted Gimli to demand a place on the expedition. Boromir stepped forward, insisting that if such a fool's errand was to be undertaken, he would go along to ensure it had the greatest chance of succeeding. Cries of protest heralded the arrival of three new Hobbits who pledged to stand by their friend.

Theresa turned her head slightly, and Sparrow suddenly realised that she had yet again walked into one of the blind seers traps. With a deep breath, stepped forward.

"I know little of these lands, but I know evil when it is in my presence, and that Ring holds a dark power." She did her best to sound and look confident, "I will join your quest, for the good of all our peoples."

"I hardly think there is a place on this quest for a woman." Boromir chuckled, amused at the very idea. "It's going to be hard enough slipping into Mordor as it is, without you slowing us down."

"Really?" Sparrow cocked her head to one side, then took another step forward, "Maybe you'd like to prove your point?"

"I hardly think..." Aragorn started, but Gandalf bade him to remain silent.

"Well?" Sparrow asked, flexing her fingers in anticipation.

"If you insist..." Boromir shook his head as he started towards her, only to be flung through the air by some unseen force and sent rolling across the courtyard. Sparrow was upon him before he could recover, the tip of her sword at his throat.

"This sword is known as the Daichi." Her words were spoken through gritted teeth, "It has shed the blood of a thousand men before it came into my possession, and many more since."

"Sparrow is a descendent of William Black." Theresa stood slowly, "The blood of Kings and Heroes flows through her."

"A descendent of The Archon?" Elrond spoke with hushed, reverent tones, "I was always lead to believe that his line had died out hundreds of years ago."

"This world has not seen his like since, nor will it likely ever again, but Sparrow is a true Hero in her own right, a champion against the darkness." Theresa smiled in pride of what her young charge had become, "I will not speak of how; that is her story to tell if she so wishes, but be assured that she has proven herself in word and deed."

"These are strange time; maybe they call for strange answers." Sparrow stood and offered her free hand to Boromir, "I offer you my friendship."

"I take it gladly: God knows, I would not want you as my enemy." He took it and pulled himself back to his feet, "And if that's how you treat those you would call friend, I can't wait to see what you'll do to the forces of Sauron."

"And so our party is complete." Elrond stood and addressed the ten members of the party, "You shall be known as the Fellowship of The Ring."

"Take care, Little Sparrow." Theresa place a hard softly on her wards arm, "And remember I am always there, always watching."

**To Be Continued...**


	2. The Long Road Ahead

**Sparrow's Lament**

**Chapter 1: The Long Road Ahead**

After the excitement of the Council meeting, it was still almost a week before they set out, due to the need to send out scouts and gather supplies for the journey ahead. Sparrow took the opportunity to get to know the rest of the Fellowship better, knowing that the success of the mission might rest on knowing the strengths and weakness of each member. Aragorn and Boromir were excellent swordsmen, and she sparred with them daily, picking up a few new tricks while teaching them a few of her own. While she was sure she could easily handle them both, even at the same time, it soon became clear that they had plenty of experience fighting opponents stronger and faster than they were, and had seen many battles. That was where one of her own weakness lay; even Lord Lucien had never fielded a true army, normally sending squads of his elite Spire Guard to do his dirty work. Even then, he never sent more than a dozen or so at a time. The thought of being in a battle whose sides numbered in the thousands frightened her, and she set about learning as much as she could from the two men while she had the chance.

Gimli was friendly and easy to get one with; like all dwarfs, his friendship was not given fast or freely. But once earned, it was as steady as the mountains he called home. He was also single minded in his determination to see the Ring destroyed, which coupled with his skill with an axe, made him a ferocious and deadly fighter at close range. Legolas was more reserved, but seemed the more willing to accept her into the group than either Aragorn or Boromir. The accuracy, range and power of his bow was matched only by his keen Elvish senses, that could see and hear far further than any human. This made him a natural scout for the Fellowship, warning them of dangers long before the others could sense them. If Legolas was the embodiment of self control, then the four young Hobbits were the exact opposite. While there was no doubting their enthusiasm, their skill at arms was questionable at best. Still, they were descriptively fast and agile when they wanted to be, capable of slipping in and out of an opponent's field of vision with ease. Only time would tell if they'd have the courage to stand in the face of the enemy.

And then there was Gandalf.

Of all the strange people she had met in her lifetime, none reminded her so much of Theresa as the Grey Wizard. In the blink of an eye he could go from being a jovial, friendly old man to a hardened, deadly serious Mage. Yet while he radiated the kind of restrained, controlled power that Sparrow had seen with Garth, he was unlike anyone she had ever met. There was great power within him, that much was clear, but it did not appear to be like any kind of Will she was use to. Either way, while Frodo may have been the most important member of the Fellowship as the Ring Bearer, nobody questioned the fact that Gandalf was in charge.

* * *

The air was still the night before they set off, with the sweet scent of night blooming flowers filling the air, yet Sparrow could not sleep. Instead she found herself sat in the gardens that surrounded the house, clutching a small portrait of her husband and daughter in her hands. It was times like this, when she was alone, with nothing to occupy her mind, that her mind drifted back to those she had lost. Her parents, killed in a bandit raid when she was but a child. Her sister Rose, gunned down right before her eyes by Lord Lucien on that fateful night so many years ago. Then her family, their blood shed in the home that should have been their protection by the very same madman, who feared any who might challenge his plans.

Yes, Lucien had been defeated, and vengeance taken in blood, but that was little comfort.

"My husband's name was Alex, and he was the kindest, sweetest man I've ever known." Sparrow spoke softly, wiping her eyes and opening her hand to the moonlight so that the portrait could be seen, "My daughters name was Astrid; it means _beautiful_ in one of the languages of northern Albion, and she was my whole world from the very first moment I held her in my arms. Everything I did, every hardship I faced, was for them, to keep them safe, and I failed."

"I'm sorry for your loss." Boromir stepped from the shadows, "I am sorry if I disturbed you; it was not my intention. It's just..." He paused, trying to find the right words, "I have never been able to sleep, the night before a battle. And while I do not expect we will face the forces of Sauron so soon, I am still uneasy."

"A great philosopher once wrote: before you embark on a journey of revenge, dig two graves." Sparrow stood and turned to head back to her room, "You may not want to admit it, but you seek retribution for the ills that have befallen your people. I will not judge you for this, for I have travelled that path more than once myself, but I will say this; make sure you've got something to live for at the end."

* * *

The sun was shining the morning the party set out, thankfully to very little in the way of fanfare. Sparrow was slightly surprised that they would be travellin on foot, given the distance involved and the ready availability of horses. But Gandalf had explained that they might need to hide in a hurry, and that horses would make that all the harder. The others had argued about which rout to take, with each having their own choices for their own reasons. Sparrow hung back with Bill the pony, keeping out of an argument she had no position in.

"Mr. Gandalf says you travelled here by magic." Sam fell into step beside her, "Don't suppose there's any way we could get to Mt. Doom the same way?"

"Were it so easy, Samwise Gamgee." Sparrow laughed, pulling the Hobbit against her side, "No, I'm afraid that the only Cullis Gate we know of in all of Middle Earth is back at Rivendell. And even if there is one located elsewhere, there would be no way to check it isn't guarded buy those loyal to Sauron before passing through."

"Oh well." The gardener frowned, "It was just a thought."

"And a good thought it was too." Sparrow reassured him, "But take it from someone with experience; you don't want to go through a Cullis Gate blind."

"It is decided." Gandalf called from the front, "We make for the Redhorn Pass."

* * *

Days passed quickly as they slowly but surely covered the miles between Rivendell and the Misty Mountains, each step taking them closer to their goal. Aragorn, Boromir and Sparrow took turns to try and teach the Hobbits the basics of swordsmanship so that they could at least defend themselves, but their lack of relative strength showed. Boromir seemed to be in good humour, even if he was still somewhat angered that Gandalf refused to even consider going to Gondor. There was a great passion in him, to defend his people, but there was also the risk that the Ring would use that passion against him. Gandalf had also noticed this, and watched him like a hawk, worried that his resolve may fail him.

It came to a head while they were making their way up into the foothills leading to the pass: Frodo lost his footing and tripped, falling back down the path a little way before managing to stop himself. He instinctively reached for the chain around his neck that held the Ring, only to find that it had somehow come lose, and he quickly started searching for it amid the long grass.

"It is a strange fate that we should suffer so much fear and doubt over so small a thing." Boromir stood holding the Ring by it's chain, mesmerised by it, "Such a little thing..."

The others shouted for him to put the Ring down, to step away, as their hands reached for their weapons in case he should turn against them. Sparrow saw this, and how badly it could go, and simply walked up to the Captain of Gondor and put a hand on his shoulder.

"It wants this: it wants to be taken back to Sauron." She spoke softly, "But you're stronger than that. Don't let it win."

Her words snapped him out of the Rings spell, and he quickly handed it back to Frodo.

"My apologies. I had underestimated its power." He looked and sounded shaken by the experience, "I thank you, My Lady."

"We're friends, all of us." Sparrow squeezed his shoulder reassuringly, "We look out for each other."

They started back along the path, Frodo taking greater care to watch his footing then before, and Sparrow soon found herself walking beside Gandalf, the tall wizard leaning on his staff for support for more than he probably needed to, a clear sign he was exaggerating his frailty.

"You did a good thing today." He spoke in a hushed tone, "You may have saved his soul, if not his life."

"I can feel the power of the Ring, even from here." Sparrow replied in an equally hushed voice, "There is such evil and malice in it, but also a desire to be used. I... I have never felt anything like it."

"Yet you do not feel the need to posses it?" Gandalf asked rhetorically, "It has been a long time since we last had a Hero in these parts; I had quite forgotten how remarkable you could be."

"But there hasn't been another Hero since the fall of the Guild five hundred..." Sparrow stopped mid sentence and looked at her companion, "Just how old _are_ you?"

"Young enough to be foolish, but old enough to know it." He gave her a sly wink, "Theresa isn't the only one who time as taken a kinder hand to then most."

* * *

Snow was something Sparrow was use to encountering as a light dusting on the ground in midwinter, something that required thicker socks and a few extra logs on the stove. Even when living on the streets of Bowerstone as a child, it had never gotten too cold, and the gypsy camp where she had spent her time after being taken in by Theresa had been sited beside Bower Lake because of the mild climate. But the blizzard that blew through the Redhorn Pass was something else entirely. The snow was so thick it was like walking through a dense fog, the howling wind slashing at any exposed flesh with a million icy knives. Even the thick cloak given to her by the Elves before they had set out from Rivendell did little to keep her warm, but it was better than nothing. It was the Hobbits who suffered the most; their small stature meant that what to the others was knee high snow came up to their waists, and eventually Gandalf had to call a halt so they could try and make a fire. Taking what wood and kindling they had, Boromir set about with a flint trying to start it, but the wing was too strong, and the sparks had no chance to find purchase. Leaning in, Sparrow held a hand over the wood and concentrated, summoning up a fireball that she deftly dropped onto the sticks. It caught quickly, and the Fellowship huddled around to form a windbreak with their bodies. The others, save Gandalf, gave her nervous, darting looks out of the corner of their eyes, evidently having never seen such a overt display of Will before.

"One of the more practical uses of Will." She smiled at them, "We get out of this, I'll tell you of the time I tried to clean my house with a Vortex spell."

They lapsed in a silence, each trying to get as much worth as they could from the fire while it lasted. Unfortunately, it wasn't long before their meagre supply of wood was exhausted, and they had little choice but to continue on or risk freezing to death. If anything, the going was even harder, the wind seeming to buffer them from every direction at once, blinding them with snow and trying to topple them over the edge of the narrow path to the valley far below. Between the howling gusts, Sparrow could hear what sounded like a voice chanting in a language she didn't understand, the words resonating and hanging in the air. Someone shouted out a warning, almost drowned out by a low rumble that shook the very ground beneath their feet. Sparrow grabbed Merry, who'd walking in front of her and pushed him hard up against the cliff-face, covering his body with her own as a torrent of snow, ice and rock washed over them. She grabbed what purchase she could, holding on for dear life as her entire world was filled with stinging, white death.

The avalanche passed, and Sparrow quickly dug herself out, dragging the startled Merry behind her. Boromir, Aragorn, Legolas and Gandalf were all seemed to be shaken but otherwise unharmed, and a string of Dwarfish curses from under a small pile soon erupted to reveal Gimli, Sam and Pip. Bill the pony was some distance down the track, skittish but thankfully still on the track.

"Where's Frodo?" Aragorn asked, looking around urgently, and they all dug back into the snowdrift to locate the young Ring Bearer.

Their frantic search soon located him, shivering with cold and barely conscious under the snow, and wrapped him in his bedroll to try and keep him warm.

"We must get off the mountain." Boromir insisted, "Make for the Gap of Rohan, or south, to my realm."

"Rohan would take us too close to Isengard!" Aragorn warned, tactfully, refraining from mentioning Gondor at all.

"Why go _over_ the mountains when you can go _under_ them?" asked Gimli, "Let us go through the Mines of Moria."

"I vote for whatever gets us out of this storm." Sparrow spoke up, noticing that Legolas was keeping out of the argument, "None of us will last much longer."

"Very well," Gandalf nodded, "we will head for Moria."

**To Be Continued...**


	3. Into The Dark

_Any non-canon pairings (and I'm not decided on any _just_ yet) will be a side story, not the main plot_

**Sparrow's Lament  
****Chapter 2: Into The Dark**

The journey back down the pass was thankfully far less eventful, with the storm abating just as they passed out of the snow and back into the pine forests below. A lot of the good cheer and optimism that they had started out with had been lost amid the snow and ice, but at least they were warmer and had a firm destination in mind. Gimli did his best to keep their spirits up by telling them stories of the great Dwarf kingdom of Moria, and how they would be welcomed as friends and granted safe passage to the far side of the Misty Mountains. Sparrow had to admit that it sounded a far better idea that risking the pass again, but Gandalf seemed on edge, as if he knew something he wasn't telling the others.

This left Sparrow conflicted, as she wanted to talk to the others who knew the wizard better to see if there was some perfectly reasonable explanation for his change in mood, but at the same time she didn't want to risk spreading alarm through the group if they hadn't already noticed. In many ways she felt more of an outsider than ever. The Hobbits all knew one another, Aragorn and Legolas had evidently met before, and were able to converse in the language of the Elves. Even Gimli and Boromir had some common ground. She found herself clutching the Guild Seal that hung from a cord around her neck, remembering the days when Theresa had used the talisman to communicate with her over vast distances. Not since she had ventured into the Spire to rescue Garth had she felt so alone while surrounded by others.

"_Do not lose heart, Little Sparrow._" Theresa's voice echoed in her head, "_Remember that I am always watching over you._"

Sparrow flinched, unsure if she had really heard her guide and protector, of it was just her imagination playing tricks on her.

* * *

Evening saw them reach the banks of a small river at the foot of the mountains, and Gandalf announced that they would be making camp for the night. Sparrow was grateful for the chance to rest, and taking her pack, slipped out of camp and around a bend in the river where she could be alone. If there was one thing her life had taught her it was that there was little point being a prude, but there were still some things she preferred to do alone, her ablutions being one of them. She tested the water to make sure it wasn't too cold, then stripped out of her sweat and dirt caked cloths and quickly washed them in the river using a small bar of laurel soap. Hanging them from a low branch, she set about washing herself as best she could while kneeling on the riverbank, paying extra attention to her by now quite knotted hair. It took some work with her comb, but she was finally able to get the worst of the tangles and dirt out, and set it back into a simple ponytail.

Senses honed by a lifetime living in the forest alerted her to the fact that there was something nearby, and her eyes darted to where her sword and crossbow lay beside her pack, just out of arms reach. She silently swore at herself for making such an unforgivable mistake, then reached in herself to summon up her Will powers. A twig snapped underfoot, and she span around, hurling a trio of burning daggers into the tree line. Two struck a low hanging branch and exploded with a sharp crack, but the third found something less resilient, eliciting a cry of pain followed by the dull thud of a body hitting the ground. Grabbing her sword from where it lay, Sparrow charged into the forest, ready to finish off her opponent, but stopped dead in her tracks when she found herself standing over a startled Boromir, who lay on the ground amid a pile of dropped firewood, clutching at a cut on his upper arm where he had been kicked by the phantom projectile.

Their eyes met for a moment, and they looked at each other in utter bewilderment, before Sparrow remembered that she was as naked as the day she was born, and she darted back the way she had come with a surprised yelp.

* * *

The night was still as Sparrow stood watch over the camp, the still air disturbed only by the distant hooting of an owl, and Gimli's much closer snoring and the crackling of the small fire she kept burning in the middle of the sleeping bodies. A patchy covering of clouds obscured the moon and hid most of the stars, casting deep shadows all around. Wrapping her cloak around her shoulders, she closed her eyes and reached out with her others senses, trusting them more in the inky blackness. A faint change in the breathing around her indicated that someone had awoken. The direction indicating that it was Boromir, and Sparrow couldn't help but grimaced.

He hadn't spoken a word to her since the incident further along the riverbank. When asked by Aragorn he had put the cut on his arm down to a particularly sharp thorn, and winched while Gandalf cleaned and bound the wound to stop it from getting infected. The two of them had managed to go the evening without making eye contact let alone talking, and Sparrow had been glad for the chance to retreat to her bedroll while Gandalf had taken the first watch. But now the others were all asleep, and it was just the two of them. She didn't say a word when Boromir got up and made his way over to the fallen log where she sat with her crossbow across her lap, and only opened her eyes when he sat next to her, close but not close enough to be touching.

"I owe you an apology, my lady." his voice was the faintest of whispers, "I should have realised why you had ventured out from camp and..."

"I think it's best if we just pretend it never happened." Sparrow managed to avoid blushing, "I doubt I am the first woman you have seen naked, and I am hardly a innocent maiden whose honour needs protecting: I _was_ married and I _did_ have a daughter, remember?"

"None the less," Boromir bowed his head. "I owe you a debt of honour."

"The promises a man makes a woman by moonlight are often regretted under the sun," Sparrow joked. "If anything, _I_ should be the one who owes _you_; if not for a little luck, I could have killed you."

"Yes, you continue to be full of surprises, a disproportionate number of which I seem to be the victim of." Boromir cocked an eyebrow, "Should I take that personally?"

"Hardly!" Sparrow managed to stifle a laugh, but bummed him on the arm with her shoulder, "If I felt ill of you, I would have made it clear by now. I have no surviving enemies, at all."

"Of that I have no doubt." Boromir bowed his head with a coy smile, "It's my turn to sit watch."

"I do believe it is." Sparrow nodded, stretching her arms above her head, "Goodnight, Boromir of Gondor."

"Goodnight, Sparrow of Albion." He watched as she made her way over to her own spot, as graceful and silent as a prowling jungle cat, then settled down to await the dawn.

* * *

Two days trek along the foothills brought them to a cliff-face beside a dark, stagnant pool, which both Gandalf and Gimli insisted was the entrance to great Dwarven city of Khazad-dûm, but which to the others seemed like nothing more than an empty expanse of rock. They were forced to bid farewell to Bill the pony, their faithful companion thus far, but Aragorn seemed sure that he'd find his way home. Sam seemed less than convinced, and Sparrow had to stop herself from consoling him like she would a child; even after weeks in their company, it was occasionally easy to forget that the Hobbits were all fully grown, especially with Merry and Pippin laughing and joking as much as they did.

Night came quickly, but the sky as clear and the light of the stars and moon revealing the hidden doorway and the riddle that Gandalf claimed to have forgotten. Gimli was little help, having only ever passed this way heading the other direction, and as such never having to learn it in the first place. A part of Sparrow couldn't help but wonder if Gandalf was the type to ever forget as much as where he had put his pipe down, and if this wasn't all part of his bumbling old wizard act. Having spent so much time around Theresa, she was wary of such games, but saw no point in calling him out on it.

Merry and Pippin stood throwing stones into the water, taking some apparent enjoyment, but Aragorn's hand shot out, fast as a viper, and he warned them not to disturb the water. Sparrow felt her hand reaching for the trigger on her crossbow as she scanned the dark expanse, but she couldn't see anything, but the hairs on the back of her neck still stood on end, a sure sign that there was danger about.

"We should not stay here." Legolas warned, equally on edge.

"_Mellon!_" Gandalf proclaimed with his arms held up high, and there was the sound of stone scraping against stone as the door slowly started to open.

The entire party was so distracted they did not see the serpentine tendril that had risen out of the water and made it's way over to where Frodo stood. Their first warning was when the Hobbit screamed in surprise and was lifted bodily into the air. Sam was closest, and in one swift act, drew his sword and severed the tentacle cleanly in two. Frodo dropped like a stone, but Boromir was able to grab him before he hit the water, the force of the impact surprising the Captain of Gondor. With the Ring Bearer safely out of immediate danger, Aragorn drew his sword while Legolas and Sparrow pointed their bows at the creature that was emerging out of the darkness. It was a mass of tentacles as thick as a man's arm, with eyes the size of dinner plates, driven by some dark hatred. It lashed out far faster than anything so big and clumsy looking had any right to, putting the three warriors on the defensive. Sparrow fired her crossbow wildly, the crystal-Augment within the weapon setting the bolt aflame as it took flight, sending a bright streak across the darkness. Her shot went high up into the sky, the bright flair surprising the monster, allowing Aragorn to hack at it with his sword, while Legolas and Boromir brought their bows to bear and fired.

Where Sparrow had missed, their aim held true, both arrows catching the creature in one eye. Injured and enraged, it lashed out violently, forcing the party to retreat into the Mines of Moria. Unable to reach them, the beast vented its anger on the doorway, bringing down part of the cliff face and sealing them in the darkness. A bright, pure light erupted from the end of Gandalf's staff. Sparrow was surprised to see what looked like an Augment embedded in the wood, and she couldn't help but wonder what other tricks the old wizard had hidden up his sleeves.

Gimli let out a cry of anguish, and the others looked around to find that they were standing amid the remains of a battle, the decayed bodies of fallen Dwarfish warriors littering the ground all around them, their cleaved armour and shattered shields a testament to the ferocity of their last stand. Legolas pulled an arrow from one and inspected it.

"Goblins." He warned, his normally warm and placid voice full of icy venom.

"We have little choice but to push on." Gandalf gestured to the rubble that blocked the way they had came.

Aragorn and Boromir found a pair of discarded torches, which Sparrow quickly lit with a Will induced fireball, and the Fellowship made their way cautiously into the foreboding mines.

The journey through the mines was conducted in near total silence, even the normally irrepressible Merry and Pippin quiet and withdrawn. It didn't help that their path was a hard one, with arduous climbs up stairways so steep they often became ladders, followed by rickety wooden walkways that hugged walls and looked out over seemingly bottomless chasms. And nowhere did they encounter another living being, be they human, dwarf of goblin. Eventuality they reached a crossroads that seemed to genuinely stump even Gandalf, and they stopped to rest. With so little space, the Hobbits clumped together, Sam, Merry and Pippin forming a protective cordon around Frodo, while the others arranged themselves as best they could, each trying to insist that Sparrow take the most comfortable spot. While it was endearing, it was hardly necessary as she had long-ago developed a knack for falling asleep almost anywhere; she wedged herself in between two boulders with her pack for a pillow and her cloak serving as a blanket.

Gandalf woke them some hours later, having determined which was the correct passageway to take by detecting a faint hint of fresher air blowing towards them. They set off again in search of any surviving inhabitants, and more importantly, a way out.

**To Be Continued...**


	4. Fight & Flight

_Mid way through this is the chapter we go from shybob to shubzilla as our Beta_

**Sparrow's Lament  
****Chapter 3: Fight & Flight**

Aside from the interior of the Spire, the vaulted chambers of Khazad-dûm were the largest and most impressive enclose space Sparrow had ever seen, far larger and grander that even the ruins of the old Heroes' Guild under Bower Lake. And like the others, they felt and still and lifeless as a tomb. The tall, intricately carved stone pillars rose high over their heads, disappearing into the darkness, and the walls were little more than suggestive patches in the shadows. The only illumination came from Gandalf's staff and the two torches they carried, restricting them to a small island of light in a sea of darkness. A faint glimmer of light appeared ahead of them, and Gimli ran ahead, leaping over the bodies of dead Orcs to a set of large, iron re-enforced oaken doors and pushed them open. The chamber beyond will filled with the dusty remains of several dwarfs, their weapons scattered where they fell, the scene illuminated by a narrow shaft of light emanating from high up on the far wall. Grief stricken over the death of his kin, Gimli sank to his knees and sobbed. The rest of the Fellowship made their way in behind them, Aragorn hanging back to guard the door. Gandalf found a large, leather-bound book laying beside one of the Dwarfs, and finding the last page, started to read the account of the fall of the Kingdom of Moria and the final siege of Khazad-dûm.

"_They have taken the bridge and the second hall. We have barred the gates but cannot hold them for long._" His voice was dry as he spoke the words of the dead, "_The ground shakes, drums... drums in the deep. We cannot get out. A shadow lurks in the dark. We can not get out... they are coming._"

The others looked at each other silently, each gripping their weapons with a nervousness born of anticipation, their bodies as tightly wound, ready to snap.

"Coming here was a mistake." Boromir observed, but there was no malice in his voice; he was merely stating fact.

Pippin stood by the well at the back of the room, and casually leant against a skeleton that promptly toppled over and fell noisily down the hole, dragging behind a long length of chain that rattled and crashed all the way down, a cacophony of noise that only ended with a loud, dull thud that echoed up from far below. No one moved, nor dared to even breathe, as every ear strained for any indication that their presence had been detected. An age seemed to pass, and eventually the Fellowship started to relax, shooting accusing glances at Pippin, who at least had the good grace to look embraced.

A drum echoed in the darkness, and Sparrow closed her eyes, cursing under her breath as the battle cries echoed off the ancient stones. Frodo drew his sword, the enchanted blade blowing blue, a sure sign that there were Goblins nearby. Boromir and Legolas started to grab what extra weapons they could as Aragorn did his best to bar the damaged door, hastily shot arrows missing him by a hairs breath. Gimli stood on the stone sarcophagus that dominated the room, an axe in each hand, uttering curses and oaths in his native tongue while Gandalf ushered the Hobbits to the rear of the room. Sparrow stood between the doors and the tomb, her teeth bared in anticipation as she started to summon up the full force of her Will powers, the air around her head and hands glowing brightly and she channelled everything she had.

"They have a Cave Troll.," Aragorn announced almost casually as the first Goblins reached the door, and Legolas cut them down with a hail of arrows.

With a roar that filled the room, Sparrow unleashed a single massive fireball that sailed over the head of the ducking ranger and stuck the doors like the wrath of a particularly vengeful deity. Wood and iron alike shattered under the blow, exploding outward in a hail of burning shards that scythed through the front ranks of the Goblins, cutting them down before they had a chance to react. It also made the enrage troll following on their heels stumble, robbing it of much of its forward momentum, allowing Legolas to hit it in the chest with two arrows that seemed to do little but make it even angrier. Goblins poured in through the open door and Gimli leapt into their midst, his axes flashing back and forth while the others attacked with their swords. Sparrow soon lost track of the others, her entire world shrinking to the area immediately surrounding herself, and the Goblins within it. Her sword cut, thrust and slashed, arcs of electricity generated by one of the Augments it held arcing along the blade. Her moves were more instinct than anything, her deceptively strong arms allowing her to punch and kick at those her blade did not find. She was able, in the rare moments when she was not totally surrounded, to unleash minor Will attacks. Mainly Blades and Force Push, two of the easiest to cast, as well as the most effective in confined spaces.

The battle was short but fierce and only ended with the final death of the Cave Troll, which took the combined strength and skill of the entire Fellowship to bring down. Fortunately its demise was enough to make the Goblins beat a hasty retreat back into the darkness.

"Mr. Frodo!" Sam called out in alarm, drawing the attention of the others to the Ring Bearer, who lay at the base of the wall, a spear sticking out of his chest. Sparrow feared the worst, but luck seemed to be on their side for once: his life had been spared by a strange chain-mail shirt he had hidden beneath his tunic. Thanks to it, he had suffered little more than a few bruises and a having the wind knocked out of him.

"We must leave, now." Gandalf's words offered no room for argument, and the Fellowship quickly gathered up their packs and made for the door.

Gimli led the way as they ran as fast as they could through the halls of Khazad-dûm to a series of stone steps that led down into the darkness. Until they reached a missing section that forced them to stop. Goblin archers fired at them as they made their way down, but Sparrow and Legolas were able to hold long enough for the others to jump across the gap. The last to make it was Aragorn, who set of a chain of events that shattered the stairs behind them, robbing the pursuing Goblins of the most direct route. But something else moved in the darkness, an evil born of another age, thats voice echoed off the rocks and sent the remaining Goblins running for safety. Fear led fresh speed to the feet of the Fellowship, and they quickly made their way down to the bottom of the stairs and out onto the great Bridge of Khazad-dûm itself.

Some sixth sense made Sparrow look back, and her blood ran cold as she saw a towering beast made of flesh and flame and hared tower over the Fellowship, brandishing a massive whip that seemed to be made out of the very fires of hell itself.

"Balrog..." Legolas whispered under his breath, recognising the creature from his people's ancient stories. Sparrow drew her crossbow and fired, but the bolt shattered long before it even got close to its target.

"_**YOU SHALL NOT PASS!**_" Gandalf stood in the middle of the bridge and struck the stone with his staff, causing a bright flash that seemed to cause the Balrog pain,. "You cannot pass; I am a servant of the Secret Fire, wielder of the Flame of Anor! The Dark Fire will not avail you, Flame of Udûn! Go back to the Shadow! _**YOU CANNOT PASS!**_"

The creature bellowed in defiance, but for all its terrible fury, the wizard stood his ground, armed only with his word and staff. Sparrow tried to draw on her Will, but she was still drained after her battle with the Goblins, and she did not yet have anything like the power she needed to challenge something as big and powerful as a Balrog. Gandalf's staff struck the bridge again, a flash of lighting and a roll of thunder filling the mighty cavern, and the bride started to give way. The Balrog moved to cross the gap, but the entire bridge started to give way under its weight. Gandalf quickly turned to follow the others as the bridge stared t started to crumble beneath his feet, but in one last act of spiteful defiance, his opponent struck out with its whip, catching the wizard around his ankle and pulling him to the ground. Gandalf struggled to gain purchase, but he was soon dragged to the very edge, only just hanging on.

"_**GANDALF!**_" Frodo cried out, even as the Goblins rediscovered their bravery and started to rain arrows down upon the Fellowship from the far side of the cavern.

"Fly, you fools!" The wizard ordered, then his fingers lost their tentative grip and he fell into darkness.

Sparrow turned and ran, grabbing Frodo and caring him bodily out of the line of fire and into the passageway the others had taken.

* * *

It felt good to be back out into sunshine again, even if they were running from Khazad-dûm like the devil himself was chasing them, as he very well may have been. Their grief at the loss of Gandalf had to take second place to the need to get Frodo and the Ring as far away from the Goblins as they could, so they quickly covered the open ground outside the eastern gateway and reached the edges of the woods beyond. Gimli fidgeted nervously as they made their way between the trees, speaking of a terrible witch that was said to inhabit the area; none who saw her were ever heard from or seen of again. Sparrow didn't know quite what to make of it, but she had seen her fair share of oddities over the years, and she kept her sword at the ready. The trees drew closer together, and Sparrow couldn't shake the feeling that they were being followed, though she couldn't tell by whom or where from. Legolas, for one, was certainly happier than he had been in Moria, and seemed to find great humour in the Dwarf's tales.

Gimli was in the middle of explaining how it was impossible to sneak up on him, when a band of heavily armed Elves appeared seemingly out of thin air and pointed longbows at the Fellowship. Sparrow went to draw her sword, ready to summon up as much Will as she could, when Legolas stepped up to the apparent leader of the newcomers and greeted him with a warm smile, exchanging pleasantries in their own language.

"I am Haldir." The stranger bowed his head in greeting, "We have been watching you since you entered our woods." He gestured to a path that lead off of the one they were on,. "Please, come with us."

* * *

"I thought I had seen all the wonders this world had to offer..." Sparrow stood on the hillside and looked on in amazement at the great city-tree of Lothlórien. "By now, I should know better."

"The Heart of Elvendom on Earth." Legolas stood beside her and smiled,. "We are safe here; no evil can enter this realm, or do those in it harm."

Their guides led the Fellowship down the hillside towards the base of the tree itself, where they were met by Celeborn and Galadriel, the two wise and ancient Elves who ruled over the woodland. They had evidently been told of the Fellowship and their mission, but Celeborn had been a little surprised that Gandalf was not with them. His wife, however, seemed to know more than was possible, reminding Sparrow of Theresa. Their hosts made the Fellowship welcome and offered them the chance to rest in safety for the night, something they were all more than happy to take.

Evening saw Sparrow resting near one of the carefully tended fires, listening to the sound of an Elvish harp while one hand idly traced the outline of the Guild Seal than hung against her chest. The chance to finally relax and let their guard down did much to alleviate the sorrow they all felt over Gandalf's death, but it was clear just by glancing around that the loss of arguably the most powerful member of the Fellowship had shaken them to the very core. After all, if even a wizard could be slain, what chance did the rest of them have? Sparrow had faced death many times in her life: the loss of her parents when she was too young to fully understand, followed not two years later by the murder of her sister Rose, and her near death seconds later at the hands of the very same man. She had only survived thanks to the power that flowed through her veins and the timely intervention of Theresa, who had taken her in and nursed her back to health. Life in the gypsy camp where she had spent most of her formative years was hard, and many died before their time, but from the day she had set out to seek revenge against Logan death had never been that far away. Indeed, death had claimed friend and enemy like, but it refused to take her, even when she had sought its final embrace. She knew that Theresa still had plans for her, but all she wanted was to seek the peace that only the Lords of Light could give, and to be with her family once more, in a place where the evil of the world could not reach them.

But now something felt different, as if the first rays of dawn were starting to break through the gloom of night, and she could almost picture a new life. All that stood between her and the chance for a bright new dawn were the massed armies of Sauron and her own fears of loving again, only to face loss. She looked across to where Boromir sat laughing, and felt a pang of regret in her heart that she could ever feel anything but friendship for a man who was not her husband, but she felt it none the less. She knew that Theresa played her games, never telling the whole truth when a half-truth and a white lie would do, and she couldn't help but wonder just what possible futures the Spire had shown the Seer.

**To Be Continued...**


	5. Back On The Path

**Sparrow's Lament**

**Chapter 4: Back On The Path**

Sparrow was struck with a sense of déjà vu the next morning as the Fellowship prepared to set out from Lothlórien, rested and resupplied. They were called before Galadriel one last time, who had them all given Elvish cloaks to help them on their way, and have them special gifts unique to their personality and skills. She stood before the Hero of Bowerstone and smiled, calling on one of the other Elves to bring forth a small wooden box.

"You are not the first Hero to come this way; many centuries ago, a man who called himself Scythe passed through on his way to a distant land, and bid me hold these until the day came when another Hero would have need of them." She opened the box to reveal a pair of tan leather gauntlets with large, flat Augment like crystals in the palms, "They will help you better control your Will, even to the point where two spells can become one. I give them to you now in the hope that they may be of some aid to you on your journey."

"I don't know what to..." Sparrow lifted the strange artifacts from the box and felt an odd connection to them. "Thank you."

"It is I who should thank you." Galadriel laughed softly, "In passing this on to you, I fulfill an ancient debt of honour."

Setting out by boat along the river Anduin, the Elves watched over the Fellowship until they had passed out of Lothlórien and into Rhovanion. Sparrow sat at the back of the lead boat, with Aragorn, Frodo, Sam, and Legolas perched upon the bow, his new bow ready to fend of any dangers his Elvish eyes or ears detected. Boromir and Gimli handled the second boat, helped, or hindered, depending on your point of view, by Merry and Pippin. The journey was relatively peaceful, but they all felt the absence of Gandalf, Frodo more than the rest. Sparrow couldn't help but notice that the Ring Bearer had become withdrawn, almost paranoid, since the wizard's death, but she didn't have the words to comfort him. Several more days passed on the river, the Fellowship setting out just after dawn and not stopping again until almost dusk, taking turns watching the banks for any sign of threat. Each night saw them one step closer to Mordor and their final destination, Mt. Doom.

They did their best to take their mind off of their journey by telling each other the stories of their lives as they sat by the camp fire, and Sparrow soon developed a better understanding of this strange part of the world she now found herself in. For her part she did her best to tell them of Albion, and her quest to seek vengeance on Lord Lucian, and what little she knew of the old Heroes' Guild. After some coaxing, she had demonstrated more of the various Will powers she had mastered, deliberately avoiding the necromantic Raise Dead spell, as it was hardly likely to aid in a good nights sleep. She also found herself spending more time around Boromir, even swapping with Gimli so she could travel in the same boat. Her feelings for him were still confused, but she was sure the underlying attraction was mutual, as she had seen him looking at her when he thought her attention was elsewhere.

But to act on any feelings while pursuing such a vital quest was foolish, and she did her best to bury them as deep inside her as she could.

* * *

Their fourth day on the river saw them pass by two massive statues depicting armoured men, one on each side of the river, standing with one arm stretched out as if ordering an enemy to keep their distance.

"The Gates of Argonath: long have I wanted to look upon the likeness of my ancestors." Aragorn explained with a faint hint of pride, "All this land was once part of Gondor, in the days of the great kings of old."

"They are beautiful." Sparrow agreed, marvelling at the craftsmanship that had been put into the towering sentinels, "Works such as this once graced Albion, relics of the Old Kingdom, but they have long since fallen to ruin."

"From what was said at Rivendell, I am taken to understand that you are a descendent of a Royal line." Aragorn spoke cautiously. "Yet you say your parents were farmers."

"And how is it that Isildur's Heir is a simple Ranger?" She countered with a chuckle, defusing any tension, "I may carry the blood of the Archon, or it may just be another of Theresa's little games, but I have no desire to claim any thrones."

"I fear that what we want, and what destiny has planned for us, are often two very different things." Aragorn bowed his head to her, a sign of respect between equals.

* * *

They made landfall on a grassy patch of earth on the shores of a lake just before a great waterfall to rest and decide their next course of action, as they could go no further by river. Boromir was still in favour of heading south to Minas Tirith, but his arguments were not as heartfelt as they had been, while Aragorn remained in favour of heading east, to approach Mordor from the north, away from the battle-lines. Frodo seemed unable to chose, so it was agreed to camp for the night, and make a decision in the morning. Sparrow decided to explore the ruins on the hill top, making sure to take her weapons with her, including the gauntlets Galadriel had given her. She could feel the power of the ancient stones when she wore them, how they seemed to draw in the flow of Will that ran through her body, making it easier to summon up, but she was far from the promised ability to weave two spells together.

The sunlight broke through the trees in an agreeable manner, and it was almost possible to imagine that she was back at Bower Lake, a place she had always felt safe. Making her way up the long vine-covered circular staircase, she reached an old stone seat at the very top and looked out across the lands of Middle Earth. Here, with only the birdsong and the slight rustling of the wind through the treetops, it was hard to imagine that there was anything wrong, and she closed her eyes and drank in the tranquillity of the place.

"_Be on your guard._" Theresa's voice warned from somewhere inside her head, "_There is great danger here._"

Sparrow's eyes snapped open and she quickly took in her surroundings as her hand felt to the hilt of her sword. On the hillside far below, she could see where Frodo had ventured off alone,wandering towards a headland where Boromir was collecting firewood. Despite her growing feelings for the Captain of Gondor, she knew it was unsafe to leave him alone with the young hobbit, less the Ring try and corrupt him again, and she quickly started to make her way down towards them in a bid to head off any confrontation. She was half way down the hillside when out of the corner of her eye she saw a band of Orks approaching. Too far away to shout a warning, she quickly drew her crossbow and aimed at a tree just beside Boromir and fired. The bolt flew strait and true, missing the startled Boromir, but drawing his attention up to where Sparrow stood on the edge of the ruins high above, and her frantic signalling to the impending danger. Unable to see just what she was pointing at because of the trees, but realising that there must be something amiss, he quickly dropped the logs he had collected and drew his sword and shield.

Unfortunately, that was how Frodo found him, and misread the situation, believing that Boromir had come after him with the intent of taking the Ring by force. Despite the human's cry of warning, he took the ring and put it on, vanishing from mortal eyes, but drawing the tireless and unrelenting gaze of the Eye of Sauron that saw him despite the great distances involved. The Ring Bearer found himself standing on the edge of the cliff, alone before the Eye that hung before him, wreathed with flame, filled with hate and ringed in darkness. In his mind he could hear the voice of the Dark Lord himself, calling out to the Ring, hungry for the power that would let him cover all the lands in darkness. He found himself reaching out towards the Eye, drawn by some strange force, unable to even look away.

Guided by the footprints the young Hobbit had left behind, Boromir managed to find the old stone wall Frodo had climbed up on, and tackled him bodily. The force of impact was enough to knock the Ring from his finger, and the Great Eye vanished, colour returning to the world.

"_**GET OFF OF ME!**_" Frodo screamed, punching and kicking at the much larger man with all his might, "I will not give you the Ring!"

"_**AND I WOULD NOT TAKE IT!**_" Boromir shouted back, surprised at his words, even as he spoke them, "Long have I felt its call, the desire to take it back with me to Minas Tirith, but now... but now I see that to do such would be to play into Sauron's hands." He pushed himself up into a sitting position, shaking his head, "Yet I still feel it calling to me, even now. I am sorry, young Master Baggins; I can go with you no further."

The war cry of marauding Orks filled the air, causing the birds to take flight from the trees.

"But I _can_ do you one last service." Boromir stood and pulled out the Horn of Gondor, "_**RUN!**_"

Sparrow had lost sight of the Orks as she entered the trees, but the bellowing call of a horn was easy enough to recognise, as she had heard it before when they had set out from Rivendell, and she quickly changed cause to head towards it, as did the other scattered members of the Fellowship. Ducking below a branch, she saw Frodo go past on a track below her running like the devil himself was on his heels, and, considering he was being chased by half a dozen Uruk-hai, he may as well have been. Drawing her sword, Sparrow leapt down onto the path between the Ring Bearer and his pursuers, cutting the first one down with a slash across the chest that sliced through armour, flesh and bone with equal ease. The one behind it simply snarled and swung at her with a long, straight-edge sword with a pick-like protrusion at the end, forcing Sparrow to lean over backwards to avoid losing her head. Following through with the momentum, Sparrow turned the dodge into a back-flip, bringing her foot up so that her boot connected squarely with the jaw of her opponent. The creatures head snapped back, blood and teeth flying, as Sparrow completed her arc and landed on her feet in a ready stance, sword held high over her head.

Taking advantage of the Uruk-hai's distraction, she struck fast, plunging the razor sharp point of the _Daichi_ into the beast's heart with all her might. Electricity arced over the Uruk-hai's body, making it shudder and dance like a mad puppet, even as the dim light of life faded from its eyes. A spray of black, oil-like blood erupted as Sparrow pulled the blade free with one hand, the other striking out with a quick Force Push spell that caught her remaining opponents and sent the first two flying backwards. Stabbing down, she impaled one through the neck, then pivoted on the hilt of the sword to catch the next in the face with the soles of both her boots, sending shards of its nose up into its brain. One Uruk-hai remained standing before her, and he bared his rotten teeth and snarled at her, the foul stench of his breath enough to strip paint off of a wall.

In one fluid motion, Sparrow drew her crossbow and sent a burning bolt between his teeth, the point sticking out the back of his head as he dropped to the floor. Showing amazing forethought, the second Uruk-hai that had been knocked down by the Force Push spell managed to get to his feet almost silently, bring his sword up with the intent of catching her from behind. He held his weapon high over his head with both hands, when suddenly Sparrow thrust her sword backwards under one arm with as much force as she could muster, cutting into the surprised Uruk-hai's belly and effectively disembowelling him with a flick of the wrist. He dropped his sword in shock, and she spun round, her sword cutting his head off with consummate ease.

The encounter had lasted less then two minutes, but Sparrow was covered in blood, sweet and grime, her sword slick in her hand. She looked around, panting. There were no more Uruk-hai in sight, but the sounds of frantic battle came from the distance. She stood, unsure if she should aid the others, or go after the fleeing Frodo to make sure he was safe, though she had no idea where he had gone. A fresh blast from the Horn of Gondor echoed through the trees, and she started towards its point of origin, deciding that it was better to head towards where she could be sure one of the Fellowship was, then to run blindly around a forest she did not know.

**To Be Continued...**


	6. Broken

_Some of the dialogue is taken from the film,_

_but in some places I've moved it around to getter fit the new chain of events_

**Sparrow's Lament**

**Chapter 5: Broken**

Branches slapped against Sparrow's face as she ran headlong through the trees, guided by the sound of battle from somewhere just up ahead. The last bit of foliage seemed a little thicker, and she found herself erupting from the undergrowth and colliding with Merry and Pippin, the two young Hobbits tripping her up and sending her tumbling to he ground in a heap. Uttering some of the more inventive curses she had picked up from Reaver during their thankfully short acquaintance, she pulled herself to a kneeling position, reaching for her sword. The blow from the Uruk-hai standing behind her had stars exploding before her eyes and she rolled to the ride to avoid another strike that probably would have taken her head off. Looking round, she saw that her sword had been kicked out of reach, and she hadn't had the time to reload her crossbow. She was, however, still wearing the gauntlets Galadriel had given her, and she looked around at the score of Uruk-hai that encircled her, each waiting for an opening to attack.

Summoning up her Will, she cleared her mind of all thoughts but a memory of a massive thunderstorm that had once struck Bower Lake, almost tipping her caravan over. She recalled the howling of the wing, the deafening crash of the thunderclaps and the great arcs of lightning that had criss-crossed the sky all night. She felt the power and fury of the storm flow through her body to the gauntlets, the augments glowing brightly as the air above her head turned black. The confused Uruk-hai looked at each other in confusion as Sparrow raised her hands above her head, then dropped to the ground as an ear-splitting thunderclap shook the nearby trees. Dust, leafs and blades of grass were picked up and swirled through the air as the massive whirlwind she had summoned took shape. The Uruk-hai tried to run, but the vortex lifted them off of their feet and flung them around and around even as bolts of lightning struck at them.

Sparrow stood at the eye of the storm, her exposed arms, upper chest and face glowing brightly with the tell-tale marks of a high level Will user exerting their powers. She hadn't called up that much Will since she'd faced the Great Shard on Smugglers Beach; even fighting the Orks in Khazad-dûm she'd had to limit herself due to the confined space. But here, in the open, she was free to unleash the full fury of her powers. The vortex reached its peak, tossing the blackened and broken bodies of the Uruk-hai to the ground, where they landed to smoking heaps, very much dead. Picking up her sword, she looked around for sign of Merry and Pippin, but they were no where to be seen. The sound of steel clashing against steel, however, could be heard coming from a little way around the hill, so she started towards it at a brisk run, this time remembering to pay more attention to her surroundings. She reached Boromir just in time to see him sink to his knees, at least four crossbow bolts jutting out from his chest, a Uruk-hai standing over him, ready to finish him off at near point-blank range. Sparrow ran towards them, sword ready to strike even as she started to summon up a fireball.

But there was still some strength left in Boromir and he struck out at his tormentor, burying his sword to the hilt in the creatures chest. It grunted, almost smiling at him, then managed to look just a little surprised as Sparrow sliced its head clean from its shoulders. Dropping to her knees, she caught Boromir before he fell, cradling his head in her arms as Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli appeared on the scene and dealt with the last few Uruk-hai before hurrying over to their companion.

"Frodo?" Boromir asked, coughing up blood as his body started to succumb to its many wounds.

"Safe." Aragorn assured him, "He made it safely to the far side of the river with Sam."

"Gondor..." Boromir gasped, his body growing cold as the darkness closed in around him.

"I do not know what strength is in my blood," Aragorn admitted, taking the other man's hand in his own, "but I swear to you I will not let the White City fall, nor our people fail."

"Our people, our people." A serene smile came across Boromir's lips, "I would have- would have followed you, my brother... my captain... my king."

"Be at peace, Son of Gondor." The Ranger nodded.

"Death is not your destiny this day." Sparrow reached into a pouch on her belt and pulled out a small gold and glass phial that contained a glowing white liquid. Pulling the stopper out with her teeth, she held it to the lips of the man in her arms, "If there is still strength in your body, drink this."

Boromir did not respond, but the liquid passed between his lips.

"Work, damn you, work!" Sparrow looked up at the sky and pleaded, "_**YOU OWE ME THIS!**_"

"He's gone..." Aragorn reached out to comfort her, but there was a flash of light and he sound knocked him over, rolling across the ground until he hit the headless body of the Uruk-hai Sparrow had killed. Looking up, he was amazed to see Boromir arch his back as he drew in a deep breath, the arrows that had seemingly taken his life shattering, leaving only faint scars behind. For her part, Sparrow had likewise been sent flying, and was being helped back up by Legolas and Gimli. Boromir sat up, looking down at the holes in his blood-stained clothes, unable to comprehend what had happened.

"My last Resurrection Phial." Sparrow smiled, tears of joy running feely down her face, "I didn't think I had enough left, but I had to at least try."

Boromir looked at her, but no words came to him to express how he felt.

"Well, that's all well and good, but Merry and Pippin have been taken." Gimli returned the group to the reality of their predicament, "And both our boats have been lost over the falls."

"We can not help Frodo or Sam; their fate is out of our hands, but we can the others." Aragorn stood and offered his hand to Boromir, "Can you walk?"

"For you?" The Captain of Gondor took the offered hand and pulled himself to his feet, his body feeling full of life once again, "To the end of the world."

"Rohan will do for today." Aragorn smiled, sheathing his sword, "Let's hunt some Orks."

* * *

Three days of constant running with no letup for food nor sleep took their toll on the five remaining members of the Fellowship as they chased the Uruk-hai into Rohan, towards distant Isengard. Throughout it all, Boromir spoke hardly a word, least of all to Sparrow, from whom he kept his distance, not daring to even look her in the eye. He had stood proudly before Death itself, showing no fear or regret at his actions, proud of the life he had led, only to find himself returned to the company of the living, once again at the mercy of his own weaknesses. The question of whether it would have been better to die a man who had resisted the call of the Ring when the time came, or live on and risk falling to some other dark, as of yet unknown temptation, hung heavily on his heart. It did not help that the manner of his miraculous return to health from the very precipice of death had shaken Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli, leaving him with no one to talk to.

Sparrow felt more isolated than ever; in saving Boromir's life, she had driven a wedge between herself and her companions, and only time would tell if she'd be able to overcome it. She as thankful in many ways that their ceaseless running left them little energy to spend thinking on anything more complicated then putting one foot in front of the other without tripping. The Uruk-hai were apparently tireless, and while Sparrow had in the past covered great distances in short order, that was normally along well traveled tracks, not the broken steppe of western Rohan, with its irregular, craggy hills and scattering of thick forests. Her feet had passed through hurting and now felt somehow distant, detached from the rest of her, while her lungs burned from the constant exertion. Only Gimli seemed to be having a worse time of it, his far shorter legs forcing him to work twice as hard just to keep up, but he flat-out refused to be beaten by an Elf, and seemed to be fueled by sheer bloody-mindedness, even as he griped.

"A red dawn." Legolas looked round at them from his vantage point high up on a boulder, "Blood has been spilt this night."

Aragorn dropped to the ground, pressing an ear against an area of bare rock.

"Riders approaching." He announced, looking around hurriedly, "Hide."

The party quickly took what cover they could, weapons at the ready in case the approaching band was hostile. The horseman soon came into view, passing between two low rock outcroppings, pennants and spears glimmering in the pale dawn light.

"Riders of Rohan!" Aragorn stood and called out after them, "What news have you of the Wold?"

The riders swept around in a wide arc, turning back towards the Fellowship, encircling them with their weapons drawn.

"What business does an Elf, a Dwarf, two men and... a lady have in Rohan?" Their leader asked from behind the point of his lance, "What are your names?

"Tell me yours, and I'll tell you mine." Gimli stood his ground defiantly.

"I would cut off your head, Master Dwarf," the rider leaned forward in his saddle, "if only it stood a little further from the ground."

"You would be dead before your hand could fall." Legolas announced, his bow drawn and ready before anyone had a chance to react.

"Boys, please." Sparrow stepped between them, holding her open hands up to hold back their weapons, "You can compare your 'swords' later."

"You remind me much of my sister." The horseman chuckled, "I am Éomer, son of Théodwyn." He gestured to the other riders, who stood down. "These men are those who remain loyal to Rohan, and for that we are banished: King Théoden recognises neither friend nor enemy any more."

"We come chasing a band of Uruk-hai who passed this way not two nights ago." Boromir explained, "They are bound for Isengard."

"We encountered them last night." Éomer nodded with a grin, "We left no survivors."

"They had two prisoners; Hobbits, Halflings, friends of ours." Aragorn asked hurriedly, "They would appears as only children to your eyes."

"If they were there, we did not see them." He pointed to a smudge of smoke a few miles away, "We stacked and burned the bodies there." He gestured to some of his men, and they brought up three riderless horses, "Their masters died in battle." He reeled his horse around, "I hope they bring your better luck."

With that, Éomer and his men took off again, riding hard across the desolate landscape, soon disappearing from sight. Aragorn took one of the horses and pulled himself up into the saddle, while Legolas mounted the second, lifting Gimli up to sit behind him. Boromir took the third, then reach down to offer a hand to Sparrow, who looked more than a little timid.

"I've never been a big fan of horses, and the feeling tends to be more than mutual." She explained as she gingerly took the offered assistance and settled herself behind the more experienced rider, "There's a reason I tend to walk everywhere."

* * *

The ride was thankfully short, and the pile of dead Uruk-hai and Orks was still smoking when they arrived and dismounted. The stench of cooking flesh filled the air, reminding Sparrow of burnt pork and old shoe leather, but she did her best to ignore it as she started to shift through the remains for any sign of Merry and Pipin.

"Two Hobbits lay here last night, arms bound." Aragorn announced, looking down at a patch of grass that seemed no different from any other, "They crawled this way." He hurried over to where a discarded axe lay, a few frayed lengths of rope beside it, "Cut their bonds here." He reached down and picked up a small Elvish brooch of the type that fastened the cloaks they had been given in Lothlórien, "And then ran off towards..."

"Fangorn Wood." Gimli grumbled under his breath, "It would have been better for them to die out here; at least it would have been quick and clean."

"Am I missing something?" Sparrow asked.

"They say a White Wizard walks the woods." Boromir grimaced, "Saruman."

"Good." Sparrow drew her sword, "We have a debt to settle with him."

"Indeed we do." Aragorn nodded, and the party started into the woods, tying their horses to one of the outer trees.

**To Be Continued...**


	7. The Turning Of The Tide

_I've condensed a few scenes, swapped a few lines around between different people,_

_but this is still one of those times where I have to follow canon in order for the story to work_

**Sparrow's Lament**

**Chapter 6: The Turning Of The Tide**

The forest of Fangorn turned out to be a dark, closed, foreboding place that resembled Wraithmarsh a little too much for Sparrow's liking. True, the ground under their feet was relatively dry, there were no abandoned villages, and she hadn't seen or heard any sign of balverines, hollow men, or banshees, but it still felt old and powerful; a relic of a long-gone age. The others were evidently as on-edge as she was as they advanced through the trees: Aragorn seemed confident in his ability to track the two missing Hobbits, and Sparrow was not about to question the abilities of the man who had become their de-facto leader since Gandalf's death.

"They came through this way," the ranger said as he pointed to a few bent blades of grass, "chased by an orc." He vaulted over a fallen tree and landed beside a bloody patch in a slight depression, "Something found the orc."

The others exchanged glances, the question of what something that could turn an orc into a smear would do to Merry and Pippin going unasked.

"Something's out there." Legolas spoke softly as he peered between the trees with his keen, elvish eyes.

"What do you see?" Aragorn asked from his friends side.

"The White Wizard approaches." The archer warned, drawing back his bow string.

"Do not let him speak." Aragorn whispered to the others as he drew his sword, "He will put a spell on us." They all tightened their grips on their weapons, "We must be quick."

The five stood, poised ready for action, until the glow was so bright it was almost blinding. Legolas let loose an arrow that splintered mid-air and Gimli's axe shattered like glass. Aragorn, Boromir and Sparrow found their swords growing red hot, and instinctively dropped them. Disarmed, they shielded their eyes to try and get a better look at whatever strange being had defeated them so easily.

"You are tracking the footsteps of two young Hobbits." A strange voice came from somewhere within the light.

"Where are they?" Aragorn demanded, standing his ground.

"They passed this way, last night." The voice informed, sounding most odd, yet somehow familiar. "They met someone they did not expect. Does that comfort you?"

"Who are you?" Boromir demanded, growing in confidence, "_**SHOW YOURSELF!**_"

A figure moved within the light, stepping forward until a face none of the Fellowship had ever expected to see again could be seen. It had changed; the once grey hair and beard now as white as freshly fallen snow, but the identity was unmistakable.

"It can not be..." Aragorn stood, unable to believe what his eyes and ears were telling him.

"Forgive me." Legolas bowed his head and dropped to one knee, "I mistook you for Saruman."

"I am Saruman." The robed figure nodded, "Or rather, Saruman as he should be."

"You fell..." Sparrow half asked, half stated as fact.

"Through fire, and water." The stranger spoke, his eyes seeming to lose their focus as he recalled past deeds, "From the lowest dungeon to the highest peak I fought with the Balrog of Morgoth... Until at last I threw down my enemy and smote his ruin upon the mountain side... Darkness took me, and I strayed out of thought and time... The stars wheeled overhead, and every day was as long as a life-age of the earth... But it was not the end. I felt life in me again. I've been sent back until my task is done."

"Death was not your destiny that day." Sparrow nodded knowingly and took a step forward, "Gandalf."

"Gandalf?" The man nodded, the word awakening old memories, "Yes, that's what they use to call me; Gandalf the Grey. That was my name." He looked at her and smiled, "I am Gandalf the White." He looked at them all in turn, his face serious, "And I come back to you now, at the turn of the tide."

"I care not how or why." Aragorn clasped the wizard by the shoulder, "I am simply glad to see you again, old friend."

"As are we all." Boromir smiled, feeling somewhat happier now he wasn't the only one to have returned from beyond the grey veil.

The Fellowship was in a much better mood leaving the forest than they had been entering it, the return of Gandalf doing much to lift the dark cloud that had been hanging over them since the battle at Amon Hen, yet their fears for the safety and well-being of Frodo and Sam were still ever-present. They returned to their horses, Gandalf proclaiming that their best course of action would be to ride to Edoras and attempt to enlist the support of King Théoden, despite Éomer's warning that they would find no welcome there. Sparrow was less than enthusiastic at the idea of spending more time on the back of a horse, but there was no choice, give how little time they had to cover such a distance. Gandalf stood on the edge of the forest and whistled, the notes reverberating with a strange harmonic that seemed to hang in the air long after he had stopped. Then, summoned by the wizards call, a magnificent white horse galloped towards them, a living embodiment of equestrian spirit and grace, rearing up before them, only to nuzzle Gandalf in what could only be described as a friendly manner.

"This is one of the Mearas," Legolas spoke in a hushed, reverent tone, "unless my eyes are cheated by some spell."

"This is Shadowfax." Gandalf explained, rubbing the stallions neck, "He is the lord of all horses, and has been my friend through many dangers."

"Great." Sparrow muttered under her breath, "Another bloody horse..."

* * *

Fortunately, the improved mood made the long ride to Edoras less of a chore: even Boromir seemed to have relaxed, and Sparrow found herself leaning up against his back, her arms around his torso for balance until she caught the amused look on Aragorn's face, and sat bolt upright, maintaining strict posture and composure for the rest of the ride. The capital of Rohan turned out to be little more than a fortified village built around the top of a hill, with a large hall at the very top that served as a general meeting place and home for Théoden and his household. They were allowed free pass into the village, but the royal guard stood outside the hall, baring their way.

"You must disarm if you wish to go before the king." The Master-at-Arms informed them, eyeing the veritable arsenal of weapons they carried.

With some reluctance, the Fellowship gave up their weapons, a process that took longer for some than others, but Sparrow was happy to see that they did not ask for her gauntlets, no doubt mistaking them for simple riding gloves. She also couldn't help but notice a young, blond woman watching them from the entrance to the hall, and how surprised she seemed at the sight of a woman openly carrying arms and travelling with four obviously seasoned warriors. The Master-at-Arms went to take Gandalf's staff, but the wizard was reluctant to give it up.

"You wouldn't deprive an old man of his walking stick?" He asked, doing his best impersonation of an weak, decrepit, and above all harmless old hermit. The guard relented, and Gandalf held out his arm to Sparrow, "If you would be so kind, my dear."

She took his arm and made a show of 'helping' him up the steps to the entrance way.

"Master Gandalf, it is good to see you again." The blond woman bowed her head, "I do not know if you remember..."

"Éowyn, daughter of Éomund and Théodwyn, younger sister of Éomer, and niece of King Théoden." The wizard smiled at her warmly, "I see a lady before me, not the young child I met when last I passed this way."

"I thank you for your kind words, but these are dark days, and your arrival most timely." Éowyn looked around to make sure that no unwanted ears could hear her words, "My uncle has become unwell, his mind and body weakened. He is not the man he once was."

"Well then," Gandalf stood strait, radiating confidence, "we'll have to do something about that."

The inside of the hall was dark, filled with the scent of decay and despair. Small knots of Rohirrim and nobles stood in the shadows around the edges, their talk as grim as their faces. Théoden sat on his throne at the far end, a withered and broken old man, his long hair and beard as pale as his skin. His eyes were glazed over, pure white, and it was clear that what strength and vitality he once possessed was now long gone. Beside him stood a younger man dressed in black, a slithering serpent in human form who whispered dark secrets into his lord's ear. All eyes save those of the king turned to face the newcomers, some with hope, others resignation.

"You'll find more cheer in a graveyard." Gimli muttered under his breath, summoning up the prevailing mood as eloquently as ever.

"Hail Théoden, King of Rohan!" Gandalf made his way to the middle of the room, "I come before you to offer my council." He looked around, "Although, your court is not as welcoming as it once was."

"Why should I welcome you, Gandalf Stormcrow?" The King ask, his rasping voice like the pages of some ancient tome.

"A just question, my liege." His adviser asked, a hideous smile on his face, "Late is the hour in which this conjurer chooses to appear. 'Lathspell' I name him. Ill news is an ill guest."

"Be silent! Keep your forked tongue behind your teeth." The wizard pointed the end of his staff at the adviser, "I did not pass through fire and death to bandy crooked words with a witless worm."

"His staff!" Grima took a step back, shooting an accusing glance at the guards, "I told you to take his staff!"

A number of the warriors moved to follow his order, only to be set-upon by the Fellowship. Aragorn, Boromir, Legolas and Gimli quickly disarmed the closest opponents, taking their weapons and holding them at the ready, while Sparrow summoned up her Will and called forth a dozen fiery daggers that hung in the air around her head, slowly circling the group with their tips pointing outwards. Such an unexpected and overt display was enough to stay the hands of the agressors and more who may have sought to interfere.

"Théoden, son of Thengel." Gandalf approached the throne, "Too long have you sat in the shadows." He held up a hand towards the king, "I release you from this spell."

Théoden looked at him, and the room was silent for a moment, then the king started to laugh, softly at first, then louder, his entire body shaking, much to the surprise of the others present.

"You have no power here, Gandalf the Grey." He chuckled, his voice much more vibrant and menacing then it had been.

Gandalf seemed genuinely surprised for a moment, then opened his arms wide, allowing his grey riding cloak to fall to the ground, unveiling the white robes he wore beneath as a bright light filled the room.

"I will draw you, Saruman, as poison is drawn from a wound." the wizard gestured with his staff, and the king's body was pushed back into his seat. Éowyn moved to run to her uncles aid, but Aragorn held her back, bidding her to wait. Gandalf pressed the tip of his staff against the King's head, "Begone!"

The entire room watched silently as Théoden collapsed into his seat before drawing a deep, tired breath and slumping forward. Éowyn rushed to his side, catching him before he fell to the floor and helping him back up, and he looked at her with wide eyes, like he was waking from a terrible nightmare. Yet even as they watched, colour returned to his hair and flesh, his eyes once again bright and full of life. Éowyn smiled brightly, overwhelmed at once again seeing the man who had been a like a father to her since the death of her own parents, while all around them, the rest of the court dropped to one knee, their heads bowed.

"Well now," Sparrow looked around, one corner of her mouth twitching with amusement as she recalled the Will back into her body, making the markings on her body glow brightly for a moment, "That's not something you see every day."

* * *

Sparrow sat against the outside wall of the hall, regaining her equilibrium after the stress of having to draw so much Will back into herself, and watched as Gandalf and Théoden spoke outside the tomb of the king's only son. She could well understand the pain he was feeling; burying her own daughter had been the worst day of her life, something she would not wish upon even her worst enemy. At times like that it was easy to understand why a man like Lucian would go to the lengths he did after losing his own family. Perhaps it was a sign of good character that, when given the chance to bring her own family back at the expense of so many others, she had closed her mind to the ache in her heart and chosen the greater good. Or maybe she had simply not wanted to face them, knowing that there would be others who feared the power that her blood held.

Éowyn stood off to one side, torn between the need to comfort her uncle, and her interest in the newcomers.

"If you have something you'd like to say," Sparrow said, closing her eyes and resting her head back against the rough wooden walls, "say it."

"I owe you an apology." The young blond took a tentative step forward, "When first I saw you, I assumed that you were Lord Boromir's woman..."

"And that the only reason I was travailing with him was to keep his bed warm at night?" Sparrow chuckled at the obvious embarrassment and discomfort her brazen words brought the other woman, "No, I am no man's woman. I did have a husband, once... but not any more."

"Is that why you travel as a warrior?" Éowyn asked, intrigued at the idea.

"I come from Albion, far, far to the east of here." Sparrow stood, stretching her arms out above her head to work out the last few knots and kinks, "It is not unheard of for a woman to take up the sword there, but I'd hardly call it common."

"But that thing you did where you..." Éowyn started to speak, but something caught her eye, and Sparrow looked around to see a lone horse approaching the city, what looked like two young children on its back. As they watched, the larger of the two slumped over sideways and fell from the saddle, and both women sprinted towards them.

**To Be Continued...**


	8. Run To The Hills

**Sparrow's Lament**

**Chapter 7: Run To The Hills**

"You seem conflicted, my dear." Gandalf's voice came from behind Sparrow as she stood in the main hall, making her jump. "Is there something bothering you?"

"Apart from people thinking it's fun to try to give me a heart attack?" She asked, getting her breathing back under control. Sparrow shot a glance to where Éowyn was comforting the two children that had arrived on horseback with word of attacks against the outlying villages. "I... don't like people attacking kids, okay? Ever since Rose... it's been something that, well, makes me want to hurt the people responsible. And I want to be there with them and hold them and tell them everything is going to be all right, but..."

"You know that such promises are often broken." The wizard nodded, "You still feel the pain over the loss of your family, that is clear to anyone who knows you, but you must remember not to let it cloud your judgement."

"_**NO!**_" The sound of Théoden slamming his fist against the table around which stood an impromptu council of war interrupted them, "We don't have enough men at hand to hold the city and strike out at the raiders; our only option is to hold back."

"I could send word to Gondor."Aragorn suggested, looking to Boromir for support, "Surely your father would send aid."

"Unfortunately, that may be just what they want us to do." His companion warned, gesturing to the map that lay spread out on the table, "The only troops Gondor has ready to move at such short notice are the garrison of Osgiliath, and weakening the defences there would leave Minas Tirith vulnerable." He drew a line across the river Anduin, "Sauron seeks to split Gondor and Rohan, the only two free kingdoms that could stand against him, if united, and I would advise against anything that might aid him."

"Then Rohan stands alone." Théoden nodded, grasping the enormity of the situation, but still weary from his long possession by Saruman, "We will make for Helm's Deep, and wait out the storm there."

"This is no rabble of mindless Orks you face." Gimli warned, "They are Uruk-hai; their armour is thick, their shields broad."

Sparrow turned and walk out, unable to add anything to the conversation, and instead went to have a look around Edoras. While smaller than the likes of Bowerstone or Bloodstone, it was clean and well organised. Unfortunately word of the impending attack had already spread down from the Hall, and the citizens were packing up whatever they could carry in preparation of abandoning the city. The fear and anticipation was almost tangible, with worried eyes glancing at her with suspicion, as if the presence of the Fellowship was drawing the Uruk-hai towards them. Amid this confusion was Éowyn, comforting the fearful and directing the evacuation preparations with a calm, level authority that was easily followed. Sparrow was impressed with the younger woman's grace under such pressure, and did what little she could to help.

Dusk saw them return to the Hall, exhausted but content from a day's work well done.

"It's been decided." Aragorn stood at the door, waiting for them. "We make for the fortress of Helm's Deep and hope Saruman is content to raze the villages."

"You don't sound too convinced." Sparrow cocked her head to the side.

"Saruman has built Sauron an army to crush Middle Earth; he will not rest until he has succeeded in his task." The Ranger looked around to make sure none of the Rohirrim were listening in, "Théoden is leading his people into a trap from which they may not escape." He sighed, "Gandalf has set out to locate Éomer and bring his men back. We are to hold as best we can until then."

"Well then," Sparrow shrugged, "We best get a good night's sleep; we have a long walk ahead of us."

* * *

The road from Edoras to Helm's Deep was long and hard, but the air was cool without being cold, and what little wind there was was enough to keep the long column of worried people from overheating under the bright sun that shone down from clear blue skies. Sparrow's supplies had been replenished, and her pack was a little heaver then she had become used to, but it felt good to be travelling under her own power once more, rather than at the mercy of some beast with a mind of its own.

"It's true you don't see many dwarf women." Gimli sat astride one of the horses, grateful for the chance to rest his legs, talking with Éowyn who walked beside him, "And in fact, they are so alike in voice and appearance, that they are often mistaken for dwarf men."

"It's the beards." Aragorn explained with a wink and a smile.

"And this in turn has given rise to the belief that there are no dwarf women, and that dwarves just spring out of holes in the ground!" The dwarf snorted, ignoring his friends comment, "Which is, of course, ridiculous."

"Why, 'Master' Gimli," Sparrow looked up at the squat rider, her expression completely blank, "is this your way of telling us something?"

"Why...I...You..." Gimli's face went bright red as he huffed and puffed with righteous indignation, "Where you not a lady yourself, I would take my axe and..."

Éowyn, Boromir and Aragorn burst out laughing, their mirth cracking Sparrow's own resolve, and she in turn chuckled.

"Oh, _very_ funny." Against all odds, Gimli's face found an even deeper shade of red to turn, "Why don't you try making fun of someone your own size?"

"My good sir, I judge those I test my wits against by their quality," Sparrow bowed as daintily as she could, "not their quantity."

Whatever response the Dwarf had planned went unspoken as Legolas called out a warning even as he raised bis bow and unleashed a flurry of arrows at an unseen enemy. The Rohirrim riding escort on the column were quick to react, riding hell-for-leather to the Elven archer's aid even as the war-cry of the approaching Warg-riders filled the air.

"Boromir, Gimli; with me!" Aragorn ordered as he brought his horse around and drew his sword, "Sparrow, stay here; it may be a trap to lead us away."

Sparrow considered arguing the point, but Aragorn pulled the reigns of his mount around and was gone before she had her chance. Muttering oaths and curses under her breath, she drew her crossbow and slipped off the safety, her eyes scanning the nearby hills for danger even as the tired and weary column of refugees surged forward, eager to reach the sanctuary of Helms Deep, now only a few hours march away. Éowyn appeared at her side, sword in hand, face set with grim determination.

"You know how to use that?" Sparrow asked, "Properly, I mean."

"The women of Rohan long ago learnt that those who do not live by the sword can still die by it." Éowyn swung the sword through the air with practiced grace, "I can not speak of the true level of my skill, but I will not die easily."

"That's good to know," Sparrow looked intently at a speck in the distant sky that was growing larger and more distinct as it grew closer, and raised her crossbow to her shoulder, "but this one is mine."

The rest of the world faded away, the rasping of her breathing and the steady beating of her heart the only sound, the approaching Nazgûl and its Fell Beast mount all she could see. Her vision continued to narrow until until all that remained was the dark, faceless void beneath the hood of its charcoal grey robe. Her finger slowly pulled back on the trigger, the well oiled mechanism straining for release as the taut string quivered with contained power. Time seemed to slow to a crawl as she eased the the trigger back the last crucial fraction of an inch, and then snapped back as the bolt leapt forth, the augment crystal in the bow igniting it as it went, turning the tip into a flaming star that crossed the distance between the two faster than any human eye could follow.

Against any mortal foe, or even a Hollow-man, the shot would have been fatal; an inescapable doom, but the undead Ringwraith was something else. It brought it's sword up and around, deflecting the bolt at the last moment, sending it spinning off through the sky as it continued to bear down upon the refugees.

"_Buggeration!_" Sparrow hissed as she slung the bow over her shoulder, and in the same fluid motion, drew her sword and charged forward as fast as she could.

Her long legs ate up the ground as she sprinted up the low rise between the people she had been charged with protecting and their impending doom, arcs of lightning enveloping her blade as she fed its own augment crystal with her own Will, turning it into a blindingly bright light that seemed to outshine the sun. This both startled and hurt the Ringwraith, and it turned away, shielding the space where its face had once been. Seeing an opening, Sparrow launched herself into the air, slicing not at the rider, but at its screeching mount.

Enchanted metal tore through flesh and bone, cutting a long gash down the beasts side, causing it to veer off to the side, seeking the safety of hight. It's master had little choice but to simply grab hold and try to avoid getting thrown to the ground, and had no chance to strike back. Not that it needed to; more through chance than intent, one of the Beast's legs caught Sparrow a glancing blow that sent her flying through the air back down the slope, bouncing off several rocks until she finally landed in a heap at the bottom. Éowyn ran to her side, sword held ready to fend off any attack, but the Nazgûl was still struggling to regain control of its wounded mount, which was intent on putting as much distance as it could between itself and the blade that had caused it so much pain.

"Damn, that hurt." Sparrow clutched her side, the all-too-familiar ache of bruised, if not cracked ribs and a sprained ankle reminding her not to leave herself so exposed in future.

"That was amazing!" Éowyn helped her to a seated position, "I have never heard of anyone taking on one of the Nazgûl and living to tell of it."

"They're not that tough." Sparrow winched: every breath caused her pain, but it was already starting to fade, along with the red fog that clouded her vision, "Aragorn's gone up against them before, although he had the good sense to avoid playing tag with one of their pets." She stood somewhat stiffly, "Okay, I'll be feeling that one in the morning."

"How can this be?" Éowyn looked at her, eyes open wide in shock, "You should be almost dead..."

"One of the traits of my bloodline: anything short of a mortal wound and we recover far quicker than most." Sparrow explained as she carefully knelt down to pick up her sword and slid it back into its scabbard, "Not that I'm of the mind to test just how far I can push it, but I should be okay in an hour or two. Less if I have something to eat."

The sound of approaching horses heralded the return of the Rohirrim; Legolas, Boromir and Gimli making a beeline for their companion.

"Something's wrong." Sparrow's eyes narrowed as she saw how they held themselves in the saddle, "Where's Aragorn?"

"He fell." Gimli almost wailed, visibly distraught "He was battling an Orc and was pulled over a cliff."

Éowyn stumbled at the news. Sparrow caught her and held her up, but her own despair and sadness were as clear as day.

"We should continue on to Helm's Deep." Boromir advised. "It's what he would have wanted."

**To Be Continued...**


	9. The Calm Before The Storm

**Sparrow's Lament**

**Chapter 8: The Calm Before The Storm**

Even from a distance, the great fortress of Helm's Deep was an impressive, even imposing, sight. The nearly sheer rock face offered protection on three sides, while the Deeping Wall protected the flank of the Hornburg itself. The walls were high and thick, much more formidable than even Bowerstone's much vaunted town walls, the only gate made of thick, old oak reinforced with iron and steel. Éowyn pointed out the tower that held the great horn of Helm Hammerhand, more out of a need to keep her mind occupied than anything else.

"What about down there?" Sparrow asked, pointing to a small gap at the bottom of the Deeping Wall, "Why did they allow such a weakness?"

"That's to allow water from the Deeping Stream to pass through." the Shield maiden explained, "It is barred at the far end and has never been breached."

"Still..." Sparrow stood at the base of the causeway leading up to the main gate, examining the high wall and the curved opening that led strait through it.

"Something wrong?" Boromir asked, sensing her concern.

"We need to keep an eye on that culvert." Sparrow grasped her Guild Seal in her hand, something she only did when nervous or had something on her mind, "I don't know why, but I have a feeling it's going to be important."

Up close, the keep was an impressive edifice, only accessible by the long, curved causeway that led up from the valley floor to the thick, iron-reinforced oak gates. The small standing garrison stood above the gates, eyes darting from the rag-tag band of refugees entering below and the distant road by which the armies of Isengard were sure to approach. The air was heavy with an odd mix of fear and restlessness, a desire for battle to be joined, if only to end the waiting. Leaving the civilians to make their way to the extensive cave network behind the Hornburg, Éowyn led them to the crowded armoury where every man and boy capable of bearing arms was being outfitted for the coming battle. Most were either too young or too old to be of much use, but the situation was considered desperate enough to press every able body into service. A number of blacksmiths had fired up forges and were working to repair old armour and put a fresh edge on swords that had last been swung in anger a lifetime before. Shedding her pack and jacket, Sparrow donned a pair of thick gloves and made ready to work beside them, remembering the many hours she had spent at the forge in Bowerstone Market to earn the money needed to fund her vendetta against Lord Lucian.

"Digression may be the better part of valour." Boromir whispered from beside her, "While I do not for a moment doubt that you are not as well-versed in smithery as anyone else here; I have long since ceased to be amazed at anything you do, the people of Rohan are a more conservative type, and your intended actions may cause them... discomfort, at a time when we need them to be of clear mind and purpose."

"Perhaps you are right." Sparrow put down the tools and instead looked around the room.

With most of the weapons either handed out of undergoing repair, there was more space then there had been for a long time, and a small number of the Rohirrim were examining a number of chests and boxes that had been unearthed. One in particular seemed to be causing them trouble, resisting all attempts to open it, no matter what they tried. Walking over to where they stood, Sparrow examined the chest before pulling out her Guild Seal and pressing it against the lock. There was a click as the ancient mechanism snapped open, and she lifted the lid, a faint golden flash signalling that the wards protecting the contents from decay had been broken.

"It's an old Hero's Guild lock." She explained, "They were designed to protect supplies and equipment, and could only be opened by someone bearing the Guild Seal. Many Heros looking to lay down their swords would use them to leave boons for future generations. I should know; I've opened more than a few myself over the years." She looked inside; there was something hidden beneath a scrap of warn blue cloth, with a scrap of paper on top. "_Far from home you have travailed, and there are many challenges you have yet to face._" She read the faded, almost invisible words, "_To that end I bequeath you a most trusted and loyal friend; may it serve you as well as it has served me. Fare thee well, Hero, until the day we meet on the distant, golden shore. Scythe._"

Putting the note down, she reached into the chest and pulled aside the cloth, which seamed to crumble in her hands, to reveal a glittering shield. The face was inlaid with gold and mithril, mirroring the markings on the Guild Seal around Sparrows neck, a golden crystal set in the very centre. Her arm slipped easily into the oiled leather strap on its back: despite its size and thickness, it felt as light as silk, yet there was still an unmistakeable heft behind it when she moved it back and forth.

"A gift worthy of a descendent of the Archon." Boromir studied the shield with an appreciative eye, "You'll need it..."

A commotion from outside interrupted him before he could finish, and they quickly gathered up their possessions and headed for the courtyard before any of the Rohirrim had a chance to contest ownership of the shield. A crowed had gathered, and it took them a few moments to make their way to the front, only to stop dead in their tracks when they saw Aragorn standing before them with Legolas and Gimli. Boromir was the first to recover, and let out a mighty roar of triumph has he rushed over and embraced the ranger, lifting him off the ground in a bear-hug that hurt his already bruised ribs. For her part, Sparrow managed to maintain most of her composure, but there was no hiding her happiness at seeing their companion alive and well.

"I see that reports of your demise were greatly exaggerated." She slapped him on the shoulder, "Should have know it'd take more than a high cliff and an icy river to finish you off."

"We can't all rely on magic potions." he countered, looking over her shoulder to where Éowyn stood.

A look of unspoken joy and relief flashed across the young Shield-maiden's face, but she quickly regained her composure and hid her emotions away deep inside, allowing only a warm smile and a slight nod to the returned Ranger.

"Come." Boromir put an arm around Aragorn and gestured to the keep, "We've still got work to do before the night's through."

* * *

His wounds tended by one of the healers, Aragorn felt something close to his old self as he pulled on a leather shirt and searched for a set of chain-mail rings in his size. It had been longer than he cared to admit since he had last found cause to go into battle, even if he had seen more than his fare share of skirmishes since then. But still, he tended to prefer the far lighter protection of well worn leather that would allow him to move freely, avoiding blows rather than absorbing them. But when the army of Isengard arrived, it would be no skirmish, but rather a full, bloody battle to the death, with no quarter given or asked.

A grunt from beside him awoke him from the melancholy thoughts that had crept into his mind, and he looked around to see Gimli struggling into a far smaller suit of rings, which fell down to the floor like a metal dress.

"It's a little tight across the chest." The dwarf huffed, trying to hide his embarrassment behind bluster.

"Here, let me help you." Boromir knelt down to adjust the straps across his companions back, loosening the upper part while helping to bunch up the bottom, effectively creating a double layer of protection, "Much better."

"Can you help me next?" Sparrow asked from the doorway of the small, private room where she had gone to change for modesties sake.

Her long, flowing red hair was pulled back into a tight bun to keep it from getting in the way, her normal tunic replaced with the same leather shirt and chain-mail combination as the others. Only, for some unknown reason, her her it looked decidedly more flattering. The subtle leather lifted up her breasts and held them in place, while, against all logic and reason, the mail seemed to cling to her every curve like a second skin. The leather leggings she war likewise accented her toned body, and made it clear that there was not an ounce of fat on her, finally giving way to a pair of greaves that only enhanced the shapelessness of her legs,

The effect was breath taking to say the least, and Gimli chuckled to himself as he used a finger to close Boromir's gaping mouth.

"I think it's okay as it is." Legolas mumbled, even the normally unflappable Elf taken aback, "But you might want a cloak; it likely to get cold when the sun sets.

"A cloak would be a _very_ good idea." Aragorn nodded in agreement, worried what affect her new look might have on the other warriors.

Sparrow muttered something under her breath as she donned her elven cloak, pulling it as tightly around her as she could, and the Fellowship made their way out into the main courtyard in time to hear the guard call out that a column of strangers were advancing down the valley. Legolas was the first to reach the Deeping Wall, his keen elven eyes scanning the evening twilight for the strangers, and a grin spread across his face.

"Open the gate!" He called out, "They're friends."

He ran back to the Keep without explaining himself, leaving the rest of the Fellowship to follow after in bemusement. They found him standing with Theoden and Haldir, whom they had last seen in Lothlórien.

"I bring word from Elrond of Rivendell. An alliance once existed between Elves and Men; long ago we fought, and died, together." the Marchwarden explained himself, "We come to honour that allegiance. We are proud to fight alongside men once more."

As one, the 200 elven archers with him turned and snapped sharply to attention, their polished armour and bows glistening in the last rays of the setting sun.

"As we are proud to fight alongside you." Theoden offered his hand, not too proud to accept help when so desperately needed, and well aware of the impact it would have in the morale of his men.

"We stand as one." Haldir took the offered hand and shook it, "Where do you want us?"

"Inside the Deeping Wall; you'll have clear lines of fire from there." the King turned to the Fellowship, "And you, my friends, you may pick your own ground."

The small group broke up as all concerned made ready for the imminent battle.

"Call me an optimist," Boromir allowed himself a faint smile as he followed the others back to their pre-selected spot on the middle of the wall, "but we might just live through this."

**To Be Continued...**


	10. By The Pale Moonlight

**Sparrow's Lament**

**Chapter 9: By The Pale Moonlight**

Rain fell in an unending torrent, cutting visibility by at least half and spreading a cold weariness through the assembled army like a rising tide. From her position on the middle of the Deeping Wall, Sparrow could see and hear the first mutterings of discontent, suggestions that their flight from Edoras had been a mistake, and that the Uruk-hai were not coming, that the armies of Saruman were either elsewhere, or a crafty hoax. She looked up to where Theoden stood high up on the battlements of the keep, then across to where Boromir and Aragorn stood together, eyes scanning the distant mouth of the valley. They stood, impatient, almost eager for the expected battle. For her part, Sparrow was more nervous than ever; it had been many centuries since Albion had last seen a true war, and the battles she had taken part in had been little more than skirmishes by the standards of Middle Earth, with at most a few dozen combatants. Now she stood in the cross-hairs of an enemy that numbered in the thousands, and she couldn't help but feel a little afraid of what was to come.

It was only the fear and apprehension of the conscripted warriors around her than hid the dread that seemed to be welling up from somewhere deep inside her.

"_Do not give in to your fears, young one._" Theresa chastised her through the Guild Seal, no doubt watching events unfold from the safety of the distant Spire, "_To fail here is to condemn our entire world to darkness and death._"

"No pressure." Sparrow muttered under her breath, wishing that for once the Seer had something more constructive to say for herself.

"_You are not a child any more, so I will not treat you as one._" Her former guardian responded, the first time she had indicated that the link flowed both ways, "_You are a descendant of William Black, Archon of Albion; the blood of Kings and Heroes flows through you..._"

"And I'd like it to stay where it is," Sparrow countered, keeping her voice as low as she could, less the men standing next to her think her mad, "not adorning the blade of some Uruk-hai who gets a lucky blow in."

"_Then watch your back, Little Sparrow._" Theresa warned, her voice growing distant, "_It is time._"

The bellowing of a war-horn split the night air like the anguished call of some wounded beast, followed by the rhythmic pounding of thousands of feet marching in locked step. Looking out though the rain and the gloom, Sparrow could just make out the glint of rain-slicked shields and armour, capped by the towering pikes of the advancing Uruk-hai. Their number was so great it seemed to fill the valley from one side to the other, stretching back as far as the eye could see. Their snarls and war-cries echoed off the mountains, full of malice and bloodthirsty intent. All around Sparrow, the warriors of Rohan and their allies steadied themselves against the advancing juggernaut, but she couldn't help but notice that the man beside her, a boy in his late teens, had lost control of his bladder and was making the stonework beneath him that little bit wetter.

"Archers, DRAW!" Aragorn ordered, Legolas repeating the order in Elvish, and the sound of bows being drawn taunt filled the air.

Raising her own crossbow, Sparrow swept her gaze across the army before her until she singled out an Uruk-hai who stood slightly apart from the other's, atop a boulder, calling out orders Orcish. Her field of vision narrowed, time seeming to slow as she picked out a gap between his chest plate and the lower guard of his helmet where and arrow was sure to find something soft and vital to hit. Rain hissed to steam when it touched the white-hot tip of the bolt, the argument crystal already channelling power into the projectile. A momentary pang of regret flashed through Sparrows mind over the fact that she hadn't thought to bring any grenades, or even a decent rifle with her from Albion, despite the difficulty in carrying sufficient powder and shot for such a long journey.

But she had what she had, and there was little point regretting it now.

The Uruk-hai threw back its head to unleashes a deep bellow, and Sparrow took the shot. The bow streaked across down from the wall like a rocket, its expert aim sending it strait between the targets blackened teeth, through the soft tissue at the back of the throat before finally embedding itself in its spinal column. Silence rolled outwards amongst the other Uruk-hai as they realised what had been done, then the now very dead general fell backwards with all the grace and subtlety of a falling tree. He landed in the mud with a wet smack, smoke and steam drifting up out of his gaping mouth almost comically. High up on the wall, Sparrow had already reloaded and was sweeping her gaze across the massed ranks, looking for the first Uruk-hai to react; they has started to think and were therefore the most dangerous. Aragorn cursed under his breath, then gave the order to unleash the first volley, Elvish arrows flying high up into the air, then coming down amid the massed ranks of the Uruk-hai while the Rohirrim fired almost directly down. While momentarily stunned by the death of their leader, the Uruk-hai were quick to recover and their own archers began firing up at the defenders even as they brought forward their siege ladders and battering ram.

In one fluid motion Sparrow slung her bow back over her shoulder while drawing her sword and shield, ready to face the first Uruk-hai to reach the battlements. A ladder slammed into the battlements almost directly in front of her, and one of the Rohirrim pushed it away as hard as he could. Unfortunately, this exposed him to the archer below, and an crossbow bolt struck him high on the left shoulder, glancing off the edge of his armour and digging into the soft flesh behind. Unbalanced and in shock, he toppled forward, almost falling over the parapet, but Sparrow grabbed him by the belt and yanked him back as hard as she could. He landed hard on the unforgiving stone, badly hurt but still alive, as the Uruk-hai below pushed the ladder back against the wall, one of their more bloodthirsty warriors already climbing up, cleaver-like sword in hand.

Sparrow responded by unleashing a quick fireball at him. It was small, weak and badly aimed, but it managed to score a glancing blow. The Uruk-hai roared in pain and surprise as flames enveloped their hand, turning to steam in the constant downpour. Realising that the weather would limit the effectiveness of that particular spell, Sparrow quickly changed to lightning bolts, summoning the full fury of the storm above their heads. Arcs of raw power fell from the heavens, the damp ground conducting the electricity, spreading the effect of the blasts to those around ground-zero. Unfortunately, as effective as it was, there was still a limit to the distance she could cast the spells, and there were simply too many Uruk-hai for her to take care of single handedly. They had also apparently worked out her position, and started concentrating their archer's fire upon that area of the wall, forcing the defenders around her to duck down or risk being turned into human pincushions. This allowed them to raise several ladders into position, and soon the battle had transformed from an archery duel to a brutal mêlée with no quarter given or asked. Sparrow found it hard to keep her footing on the rain and blood slick flagstones, but knew that slipping would be the last mistake she'd ever make.

The blade and handle of the Daichi was already slick with black Uruk-hai blood, her new shield was an unfamiliar weight on her left arm, and the armour she had donned felt tight and restrictive. She was also outnumbered and surrounded in a way she had never encountered before. The only way she was able to cope was to stop thinking and let her instincts take over; entering some strange, trance-like state, her sword and shield became little more than extensions of her own body. Reflexes honed by a lifetime spent fighting allowed her to dodge swords and axes while she struck out with all the weapons at her disposal. Against any lesser foe, she would have been an unassailable berserker, but the Uruk-hai gladly threw themselves upon her blade, screaming and howling in their own, twisted language as they did so. The world around her became a macabre dance, eliminated by the few remaining torches and the near blinding flashes of lightning that arced across the sky, momentarily turning night into day, the air filled with the cries of the dying and the piercing ring of blade against armour.

"_Beware!_" Theresa's voice cut through the fog of battle and the blood-lust, "_You are in grave danger!_"

Taking the head of her latest foe, Sparrow looked out over the battlements. Her eye was drawn to a lone Uruk-hai was running towards the wall with a spiked metal sphere in his arms. Instinct, driven by her guardians warning, told her it was an imminent threat. Re-sheathing her sword, she pulled the crossbow from across her back with one fluid motion, the tip of the bolt already starting to steam as the argument crystal came to life. Time slowed to a crawl, the rest of the battle fading into the background as she draw a bead on her target, then led it slightly to pick the spot where it would be when it crossed paths with the bolt. Her finger drew back the trigger, each heartbeat in her ear sounding like the slow, steady beat of a distant drum. A flash of lightning eliminated the battlefield, allowing her to make out even the smallest detail on her target, to count its black, half rotten teeth. The eventual click of the latch letting go the string sounded like the crack of doom, drops of water slowly arching up through the air as the contained energy of the bow was transferred to the bolt. Even in the wind and the rain, the tip of the bolt still burst into flame, a near blinding spark of light in the darkness. The wooden shaft of the bolt seemed to wobble slightly as it was sped upon its way by the string, but the shot tracked straghit and true, crossing the distance between the wall and its target like a shooting star. It struck not the Uruk-hai, but the metal sphere in its arms, the sharpened bolt having enough force to penetrate even the crude iron and reach the contents inside.

Time returned to normal as the world went suddenly white then red, a titanic roar almost deafening those closest to it. Of the Uruk-hai and its load there was nothing left but a smoking hole, but Sparrow was already reloading, her keen eyes tracking back through the massed ranks of the army below her until she found a cart loaded with more of the metal spheres. Taking careful aim once more, she unlashed a second flaming bolt before the echo of the explosion had died away, let alone the ringing leave her ears. This time the range was longer, giving the Uruk-hai time to recover at least some of their wits and try and defend. One of their number, fearing neither pain nor death, attempted to place himself between the bolt and its target, but his reactions were not sharp enough, and the bolt only gouged a deep wound out of his arm before going on to find its target.

If the first explosion had been loud, the second was the enraged scream of a wounded god.

Flames and burning debris shot strait up into the sky, before raining down upon the Uruk-hai. The blast sent a score of them tumbling across the valley floor, bowling into their comrades, a tumbling, bleeding mess of flesh, armour and swords. The effects of the shock-wave was felt even as far as the Deeping Wall, where one of the assault ladders fell to the ground as an Uruk-hai was shaken lose, and in a bid to regain its footing, dragged it over with them. It landed on the rocks below in a bloody, broken mess. Others already on the wall itself were almost knocked off their feet as flaming debris and pulverised rock started to pelt them without mercy of deference to which side they were on.

More exposed than most due to her firing position, Sparrow found herself picked up by some unseen hand and thrown clear of the battlements and down into the culvert below, darkness claiming her.

**To Be Continued...**


	11. Dark Prophecy

**Chapter 10: Dark Prophecy  
**

Sparrow found herself standing alone on a battlefield strewn with dead bodies as far as the eye could see. In the distance, a city built into the side of a mountain was in flames, the screams of the dying carried to her across the still night air. The smell of decaying flesh filled her nostrils, making her gag involuntarily.

A strange, dark, and yet somehow seductive voice crept into her ears, warning her that this was the inevitable outcome, that her death would be meaningless, all her sacrifices in vain. It warned her of the true horrors yet to come, of unspeakable evils and vile corruptions. Her mind was assaulted with images of women and children, begging for mercy even as they were cut down. Farms, not unlike the one she had been born on, burned, the sky thick with their acrid smoke. She could feel the heat of the flames on her face, the kiss of hot embers arms, the crumbling of charcoal beneath her feat. The visions blurred, and she was no longer in Rohan, but back in Albion, watching helplessly as Bowerstone burned, Castle Fairfax illuminated by the flicking light of the fires as the river ran red with blood. The forests around Bower Lake were turned to ash, while the Temple of Light in Oakfield lay in ruins.

All this and more was shown to her, a dark promise of the things to come. But there was, the voice assured her, a way to not only survive, but thrive in the chaos. A way to regain the lost glory that her ancestors had once known.

A new image came before her; a tall figure, clad in black armour, surrounded by a halo of eldritch energy. It stood atop a mound of skulls, the steel of its sword stained red with the blood of countless victims. Before them stood an army, ready and willing to commit any act, no matter how vile, if the order was but given. The dark and terrible knight raised up its free hand, dangling a severed head by its hair. The image swum into sharper focus, and Sparrow was shocked to see that it was Theresa's head, the old seers eyes and mouth open in one final, eternal scream of terror. Throwing the ghoulish trophy down to the baying masses, the knight reached up and removed its mask, and the very breath was stolen from Sparrow's chest. It was a sick and twisted mirror of her own face that looked back at her. Her skin and hair had taken on the lifeless hue of alabaster, while her eyes were two solid orbs of red that glowed with the promise of dark power. A faint scar traced down from just below her left eye to pick at her upper lip, turning her mouth inter a determinant, leering snarl. Ever since the awakening of the powers within her at the Chamber of Fate, Sparrow had know that she had the capacity for great darkness, the same flaw that had led her ancestors to bring the glory of the Old Kingdom crashing down upon their own heads. And here she was, remade in that image, little more than a puppet, dancing to the tune of a greater evil.

A torrent of images assaulted her mind; her army sacking a town, displaying the heads of their enemies on their pikes. A forest burned, the smoke turning day into night as the horde under her command killed and devoured anything in their path. A fleet of ships, the biggest the world had ever seen, scoured the seas for fresh targets, spreading the dark shadow of war to the furthest corners of the earth. None her stood before them lived, while those who tried to run were cut down, be they man, woman, or child. She drank the blood of the fallen from their skulls, savouring each and every kill, every travesty and atrocity, as her appearance grew ever more twisted and demonic, until no one would have been able to call her human.

The images faded into the mist, and she was once again alone, only now on an empty mountain top. Before her, hanging in the air, was a sword with a long, curving blade that was split in two down the middle. The hilt and grip were blood red, while its pommel the colour of bleached bone. She know, somewhere deep down inside, that to take up the blade was to surrender her very soul itself. Her arm reached out, almost of its own accord, but she managed to stop herself before her fingers touched the cold metal.

"What can you offer me?" She demanded of the darkness that surrounded her, "I sacrificed my family for the sake of others; my husband... our daughter! I turned my back on a mountain of gold!" unbridled rage filling her voice, the guild tattoos on her exposed flesh glowing a bright, perfect blue, "**WHAT MORE COULD YOU OFFER ME?**"

"_Death..._" The voice hissed in return, the shadows coming together and coalescing into the form of an armoured giant. It raised a massive, gleaming mace over its head, ready to bring it down with enough force to crush the life out of Sparrow, "_**DEATH!**_"

"**YOU SHALL NOT TOUCH HER, FOUL DEMON-SPAWN!**" A deep, booming voice commanded, thunder and lightning splitting the skies and a painfully bright light appeared behind Sparrow, causing the demon before her visible pain, "She has rejected your empty threats and treacherous promises, Dark One; you can lay no claim on her!"

Sparrow glanced back over her shoulder, and was shocked to see a tall, withered figure in a tattered royal blue robe with white fur trim, the tarnished remains of golden armour hanging off in places, and his skin was drawn and had the colour of weathered leather. While much of his face was hidden behind scraps of the same blue cloth that his robe was made of, intricate Guild tattoos could still be seen. In his gauntleted hands he held a massive scythe, the blade of which looked sharp enough to lay a god low.

The armoured spectre with the mace hissed like an enraged snake, but the newcomer raised his weapon and took a step forward, evidently ready to stand and fight.

"_We are not finished, little sparrow._" A howling wind filled the air, and the creature started to fade back into the darkness from whence it come.

The world around them changed, the storm clouds overhead parted, the once dark and foreboding landscape replaced by rolling hills of soft sun and velvet grasses, while distant streams of quiet waters offered to sooth a beleaguered soul.

"Am... am I dead?" Sparrow asked, unsure if she was more afraid the the answer was yes or no.

"Death is not your destiny this day." The robed stranger smiled down at her, his voice and eyes now warm, the hard edge they had held melted away like the first mists of dawn. The light behind him grew until it became all-consuming, enveloping everything, "Perhaps one day, when the world has no more need of you, you will walk these hill with me, and we shall talk again."

Sparrow woke again, only this time she knew it was for real; there was simply no way the human body could hurt that much in a dream.

Opening her eyes slowly, and with some trepidation, she found herself laying on a blanket in the cave behind the Hornburg, surrounded on all sides by others who had been hurt in defence of the keep and the wall. But unlike their wounds, many of which they would carry to the ends of their days, her own body had almost completely healed itself, leaving only a few faint scars. Looked down at herself, she was somewhat shocked to see that she had been stripped of her armour, which was now laid out beside her bed, along with her weapons and pack. Instead she was dressed in a plain white cotton gown, stained red with her blood in places, but more than up to the task of keeping her warm and protecting her modesty.

"My Lady!" Éowyn appeared at her side, a relived expression on her face, "We did not expect you to awaken so soon."

"I told you before; I'm a hard person to kill." Sparrow pulled herself up into a sitting position, her head spinning slightly, but the aches and pains she had felt upon first awakening fading away, "How long?"

"Two hours." Éowyn explained, holding up a cup of water, "We still hold the Deeping Wall and the Hornburg, thank Eru, but I hear the enemy are massing for an assault on the gates."

"Then I am in the wrong place." Sparrow started pulling on her armour over the top of her gown, "I have seen the face of the enemy; I will not let others stand in my place against him while there is breath left in my body."

"You're hurt!" Éowyn protested, surprised yet somehow happy at the fact that her companion was so willing to re-enter the battle that raged outside. "You need rest."

"I'll rest when I'm dead." Sparrow responded as she gathered her weapons and made for the doorway that lead into the keep proper, "If I am destined to die this day, then I intend to make such an end that it is not easily forgotten." she warned as she made her way though the main hall and out into the courtyard, flexing her fingers to make sure her gauntlets, and their augment crystals, were firmly in place, "I don't know what emotions Saruman gave the Uruk-hai, but I for one intend to teach them the meaning of fear."

The rhythmic pounding against the main gates indicated that the Uruk-hai had managed to get a battering ram up the ramp, despite the best efforts of the archers on the battlements and wall. Boromir seemed to be organising a party carrying beams and hammers, no doubt to shore up the one remaining weak spot in their defences, while Aragorn and Gimli slipped through a side door on a mission of their own.

"Anything I can do to help?" Sparrow asked.

"You have yet to cease amazing me." The Captain of Gondor chuckled as he looked her over, "When I pulled you from the water, I felt sure that even your luck had run out."

"I've survived worse." Sparrow had to stop herself from reaching for the scar over her right eye, just under her hairline; it was a constant reminder of the night she had first met Lord Lucien Fairfax, the night she had watched her sister die, unable to do a damn thing about it.

"Of that I have no doubt." Boromir laughed as the pounding the battering ram stopped, only to be replaced by the clash of steel on steel, "Let's see just how strong you really are."

Grabbing a thick plank, Sparrow held it up against the weakened gate and held it in place while others worked to secure it with nails. Peering through a narrow gap in the wood, she could see Aragorn and Gimli battling the Uruk-hai, buying the those inside time to work. Once the first plank was held in place, Sparrow grabbed another that was passed forward and placed it lower, holding it in place with one knee so she could pick up a hammer of her own and work to hold it in place. All the hours she had spend making swords and horseshoes at the forge in Bowerstone meant that she was an expert at hitting a target as small as a nail with even the biggest hammer.

With the last board in place, she dropped the hammer and ran up to the battlements overlooking the causeway. Two of the Rohirrim were preparing the send down a rope for Aragorn and Gimli, but the Uruk-hai were massing for a fresh attack. Reacting on instinct, Sparrow summoned a trio of burning blades and flung them into their ranks, followed by another attack, and then another. She didn't have the time to summon a larger more powerful attack, so instead she just kept summoning and flinging the blades. They sliced through the thickest armour, burning as they cut, turning a few of the Uruk-hai into living, writhing touches, if only for a little while. The sudden ferocity of the attack was enough to force them back long enough for Aragorn and Gimli to make good their escape.

**To Be Continued...**


	12. Playing With Fire

**Sparrow's Lament  
****Chapter 11: Playing With Fire**

It didn't take long for it to become all too clear that the gate would not hold indefinitely, despite the best efforts of the archers above. They still held the Deeping Wall; with so few ladders left, the Uruk-hai had little choice but to make their way up one at a time, resulting in easily defended choke points. Unfortunately, the need to hold the wall drew strength away from the keep, and risked allowing the Uruk-hai to cut their forces in two when the gate failed. Theoden weighed the odds in his mind for some time, his advisers proposing first one plan of action and then another as the tide of battle ebbed and flowed. Haldir and his elven archers continued to fire volley after volley of arrows over the wall, their rate of fire only hampered by the speed at which their quivers could be refilled by the steady stream of volunteers running between the armoury and the battlefield.

Sparrow was down to her last half dozen crossbow bolts; while not unheard of in Rohan, crossbows were far less common. Back in Albion, there wasn't a trader worth the name who didn't carry a sizeable bundle with them at all times, and every town, village and camp had its own fletcher. True, firearms were becoming more and more popular, but they were still expensive, cumbersome, and above all, very noisy. A good crossbow, on other hand, could be just as deadly and all but silent in the hands of a master. But if she was going to lament that which she did not have, she may as well asked for an army, or a half dozen cannons while she was at it. Instead, she stood atop the gatehouse, heedless of the danger, and called down lightning bolts and fireballs upon the Uruk-hai. She summoned freezing hail and swirling vortexes, slashing blades and manipulated the very fabric of time itself in an increasingly desperate bid to hold them off. Every spell cast left her weaker; she was already running on her last reserves and the stress and strain was starting to take its toll. The familiar red haze had started to creep into the edge of her field of vision, and her heartbeat was a pounding drum in her ears as her concentration started to slip.

Yet somewhere deep down inside her there was a burning fire, a maelstrom of raw emotion that spurned her on.

"Enough!" Aragorn grabbed her by the arm and pulled her down off the parapet, "The gate is almost gone; we must fall back to the inner keep."

There was little hope for an orderly retreat from the Deeping Wall with the Uruk-hai still forcing their way up the ladders. But somehow Legolas and Haldir were able to form the surviving elves into ranks and fought an staggered withdraw, holding the advancing horde back with volleys of arrows. Under the cover of their fire, the wounded were helped back to the last redoubt, their defences growing stronger as their lines grew shorter. In the end, only the main courtyard was left, a few remaining Rohirrim doing their best to hold the gate for a few moments more. Realising that there wasn't enough time to get everyone to safety, Sparrow picked a spot in the middle of the courtyard. Placing her feet firmly on the rain-slick cobbles, she reached down inside and began to summon whatever reserves of Will remained. Her hands started to glow, dimly at first, but brighter as arcs of light began to swirl around her. The arcs became ribbons as she pushed herself harder, the guilt tattoo on her face glowing a bright, pure blue as strange, mystical markings appeared on the ground around her. The great storm that had raged unabated over the battle from the beginning seemed to take notice of her: great sheets of lightning illuminated the courtyard, briefly turning night into day.

Closing her eyes and gritting her teeth, Sparrow pushed herself harder than ever before, ignoring the thin trickles of blood that ran down from her nose and ears. Her body was at the point of failure, yet she was surrounded by an otherworldly aura of light that seemed to arc out like great wings behind her. It covered her body, transforming her mail and torn cloak into finest plate armour over a rich, royal blue robe, while a golden crown adorned her head.

"Get...out...of...the..._**WAY!**_" She ordered through clenched teeth as her eyes snapped open to reveal a pair of brightly shinning orbs.

Not needing to be told twice, the Rohirrim ran for cover as Sparrow brought her arms round until they pointed at the gate. Parts of it started to break off as the Uruk-hai hammered on it mercilessly, unaware of what was about to happen. There was a moment of pure silence, as if the entire world was holding its breath, then Sparrow released the power that she had called forth.

The remains of the gate and the Uruk-hai immediately behind it simply ceased to exist, incinerated by a rolling wall of flame. It continued on a straight course, scouring the upper reaches of the causeway that led up from the valley floor, then out over the heads of the massed ranks below. It continued for an unnatural length of time, roaring like an enraged dragon, burning anything that came near it. Some Uruk-hai below found the leather straps of their armour smouldering and bursting into flame, and quickly fought to free themselves before the fire could engulf them fully.

But, eventually, staved of fresh Will and fuel, the flame died out. In its wake lay a blackened, charred mess. The stones of the gateway, hewn from the living rock of the mountains, hard started to melt, so intense had been the heat. Weakened and heated out of shape, the gateway collapsed into a pile of smoking debris. Raindrops hissed and fizzled as they struck the cooling remains, a few distant rumbles of thunder seeming to applaud the destruction.

"Damn," Sparrow swayed back and forth, the world seeming to spin around here. "that was intense."

She slumped backwards, but Aragorn and Boromir grabbed her before she hit the ground, and pulled her through the gates into the inner keep.

"I've never pushed myself that hard before. " She murmured as they half dragged and half carried her to a chair and sat her down, "If I do it again, I don't think I'll be able to come back."

"Then, My Lady," Boromir smiled softly, "may I recommended to show greater restraint in future?"

"Is there no other way for the women and children to get out of the cave?" Aragorn asked of the Rohirrim as the Uruk-hai stormed the impromptu barricade that had until recently been the outer gateway and began pounding on the doors, "Is there no other way?"

"There is one passage; it leads into the mountains." One of the senior commanders nodded, "But they will not get far. The Uruk-hai are too many."

"Tell them to make for the pass." Boromir ordered, "And barricade the entrance."

"So much death." Theoden lamented, his strength and will to continue at its end, "What can men do against such reckless hate?"

"Ride out with me." Aragorn spoke softly, but his words held a power of their own, and caught the king's ear, "Ride out and meet them."

"For death and glory." Theoden agreed, his mind now clear on what he must do.

"For Rohan." Aragorn nodded, "For your people."

"The sun is rising." Gimli announced, nodding towards one of the high, narrow windows.

Sure enough, the first rays of dawn could just be seen.

"_Look to my coming, at first light on the fifth day._" Gandalf's voice echoed through Sparrow's mind, as clear as if he had been standing before her, "_At dawn, look to the east._"

All eyes turned to Theoden, awaiting his command.

"Yes. Yes!" the strength seemed to return to the kings voice even as he spoke, "The Horn of Helm Hammerhand will sound in the deep one last time!" He place a hand on Aragorn's shoulder, "Let this be the hour when we draw swords together."

Sparrow could do little but watch as fresh horses were brought out of a stable somewhere in the keep and readied for war. Her body was still weak from its ordeal, but she could feel her strength returning with each passing minute. Soon as she was capable, she dragged herself to her feet and took a fresh grip on her sword and shield. Spotting a young Rohirrim attempting to mount a nervous horse, she forced her way over to him and took the reins from his hands.

"Death is not your destiny this day." She assured him, then nodded towards the back of the keep, "Go, before I come to my senses."

"Thank you." He whispered, then took off before she could change her mind.

"I must be losing my mind." Sparrow chastised herself with a slight grin, "I still hate horses."

Taking her place with Aragorn, Boromir and Legolas, she took a moment to offer up a silent prayer. She held no illusions about her fate, and in truth she did not care; she had seen too much death, and had started to long for the calm embrace of the green hills she had seen in her vision. Instead she asked that the Lords of Light would look after the people of Rohan, and lead them to safety. If her life was the price that would be asked, then she would pay it without hesitation.

"Fell deeds await." Theoden took his place at the front of the party, even as the Uruk-hai began to hack their way through the door, "Now for wrath, now for ruin, and the red dawn."

A deep, droning sound echoed from the tower high above them, announcing that Gimli had reached the legendary horn at the very top of the highest tower. It sounded again, causing even the Uruk-hai to pause in their murderous business and look around in bewilderment. Then, with a mighty crack, the door finally gave way, and they spilled into the hall.

"Forth, Eolingas!" Theoden drew his sword and spurned his horse forward.

With not a thought of survival, nor any regard for personal safety, the rest of the impromptu cavalry followed in his wake. Their swords and axes sliced through the air, cutting down the Uruk-hai as their momentum carried them out and into the courtyard beyond. The sheer ferocity of the completely unexpected counter-attack caught the Uruk-hai totally by surprise. Disorganised, they were unable to put up anything approaching an organised defence as the riders forced they way out onto the causeway. There, where the narrow path made the enemies numbers work against them, they made their stand. With the kings banner flying over their heads, and the deep, booming call of the great horn downing out the piercing ring of steel against steel.

Sparrow cut and thrust with abandon, the tip of her sword an extension of her arm. Uruk-hai died before her in countless numbers, but for every one she felled, two more seemed to take its place. Even with her great strength behind it, and the augment crystals in its hilt, there was only so much the Daichi could do. With her mount bucking almost to the point of throwing her, she gripped as tightly as she could to its flanks with her legs and fought back with everything she had.

**To Be Continued...**


	13. Rage Against The Dying Of The Light

_all previous chapters have now been beat-read and re-posted_**  
**

**Sparrow's Lament  
****Chapter 12: Rage Against The Dying Of The Light**

Sparrow's mind was so clouded by blood-lust that she didn't hear Aragorn's first cry of triumph, but the sudden shift in the ranks of the Uruk-hai managed to penetrate the red mist that had descended upon her. She looked around to see a white rider on a white horse at the top of an impossibly steep gully that led down from a narrow pass into the valley. The horse reared up, the rider holding a long wooden staff over his head.

"Gandalf?" She whispered, stabbing a Uruk-hai through the neck before burning another with a quick fireball almost absent-mindedly.

The rider was joined by a host of armoured Rohirrim, the first rays of dawn glistening off their swords and spears. The Uruk-hai wheeled about, moving the bulk of their surviving number to counter the new threat, giving the besieged party of riders in their mist a chance to catch their breath. But even as the Uruk-hai rearranged themselves, the Rohirrim began their charge down the gully, Gandalf at their head. It was the kind of crazy, death-or-glory assault that demanded absolute commitment. There was no room for second thoughts or half-measures; there was only just enough traction to stop it from turning into an avalanche of horses and riders. Yet still they came, heedless of the wall of pikes and blades awaiting them at the bottom. Their war cries filled the air, downing out even the thundering of their horses.

And then, when it looked certain that it was all going to end in tragedy, the sun rose up behind them. Suddenly blinded, the Uruk-hai broke ranks, giving the Rohirrim the opening they needed. The speed and ferocity of the charge carried them clean across the valley, enveloping the king's party in a wall of men and shields. Swords and axes cut and sliced, severing limbs and cleaving skulls. Blood and screams filled the air, no quarter given or asked. The Uruk-hai already in the keep found themselves with their backs against the wall, and were cut down where they stood. The others made to escape back towards Isengard, and Gandalf gave the order to to let them go.

Many would have questioned his order, had they not seen the forest outside the valley come to life, the very trees taking their bloody vengeance upon the Uruk-hai.

The battle won, Éomer rode over to the king. Théoden smiled upon seeing his nephew, and they clasped hands, their expression saying more than they would have been able to find the words for. The other Rohirrim greeted friends and kinsmen given up for lost or dead, while the Fellowship welcomed Gandalf back to their number. No one seemed to notice as Sparrow closed her eyes and slumped forward in her saddle, but Legolas' keen elvish hearing picked up the soft sound of her snoring. None were able to contain their mirth as Boromir collected her sword and shield from where they had fallen and led her horse back to the Keep.

* * *

Sparrow woke to find herself in a proper bed, beneath soft sheets and thick, warm blankets. The room was unfamiliar, but it was clear from the quality and type of furniture that it belonged to an unmarried woman of some standing. She sat up slowly, her body feeling weaker than at any time since the birth of her daughter. Her clothes, which sat neatly folded on a nearby dresser, had once again been replaced by a plain white cotton gown that stretched down to her feet. On the floor beside them were her pack and her weapons, indicating that she was not a prisoner.

Or rather, whoever owned the room did not consider her a threat, even thus armed.

Standing somewhat shakily on unsteady feet, she made her way over to the dresser, where a bowl of clean water and a wash-cloth awaited her. Looking down at her reflection, she could see where a couple of new, faint scars had been added to her shoulders and neck. Given just how resilient to scaring she had proven to be, even without the added protection of augment crystals, they were a stark indication of just how vicious the battle had been. By comparison, the once bright Guild tattoos were now little more then pale lines against her skin, a visual indication of how physically and mentally exhausted she was. He hair had been allowed to hang freely, and was matted with sweat, but was far cleaner and less tangled then it should have been, indicating that someone had taken the time to run a comb through it while she had been unconscious.

Dipping the wash-cloth in the tepid water, she set about cleaning herself up as best she could. She took her time, deciding that if anyone had meant her harm, they could have easily acted upon it while she slept. She washed herself as best she could, wiping away the sweat and grime of battle, turning the formally crystal clear water inky black. Her body was a mass of tense knots and aching muscles, and it took time to massage out the worst of them. But the work paid off, and she eventually started to feel like her old self again. Drying herself off, she inspected her clothes; they had been thoroughly cleaned, but there were still a few marks that no amount of soap and scrubbing would ever get out. There were also a few new patches where a simple needle and thread had not been enough to repair the damage they had taken since she had left Albion. All that aside, they were a comfortable, familiar feel against her skin, and that was something she needed.

Sparrow was lacing up her boots when the door opened and Éowyn walked in, carrying a pitcher of water and a cup on a tray. She was so startled that she almost dropped them, but her reflexes were sharp enough that she was able to grab them without spilling a single drop.

"Forgive me," She blushed at her clumsiness, "I truly did not expect to find you awake."

"I'm not sure I ever expected to wake again." Sparrow smiled warmly, "How long was I out for this time?"

"Four days; I was surprised that the cart-ride back didn't wake you." The Shield Maiden placed the tray on the dresser before she could embarrass herself any more, "Master Gandalf said that using your powers as much as you did had you were exhausted, and that you just needed to sleep."

"He's probably right; I feel a lot better now." Sparrow stood and looked around, "I take it we are back at Edoras; are the others in the main hall?"

"No, your companions went with the the King and a number of my brother's men to Isengard." Éowyn explained, "They intend to see to it that Saruman answers for his crimes." She looked out the windows: the sun was high in the sky. "They should be back before dark. I hope they are. There is going to be a feast tonight to celebrate our victory... and honour the dead."

"Well then." Sparrow looked down at her somewhat warn and ragged cloths, "I guess I'd better find something more appropriate to wear for a royal court..."

* * *

The party that had set out to Isengard returned with news of its capture by the Ents, and that Saruman was no longer a threat to the free lands of Middle Earth. They also brought with them Merry and Pippin, who were quick to regale their friends with the tale of their escape and how they had talked the Ents into helping. Sparrow was sure that they had embellished their part in the story, but decided it wasn't her place to call them out on it. She was simply glad that they had the two Hobbits back safe and, for the most part, unharmed.

That just left the unasked question of Sam and Frodo, whose fate remained unknown even to Gandalf. Sparrow had tried to use the Guild Seal to question Theresa, but the Seer remained silent, refusing to even so much as acknowledge the inquiry. Sparrow was unsure if that meant there was some unseen force interfering with the Seal, as had happened when she had first ventured into Wraithmarsh, or if her former guardian was just being her normal cryptic self. Either way, there was little they could do to help their friends.

* * *

Evening came, and at the command of Théoden, the Rohirrim gathered in the Golden Hall. The feast started solemnly with with a toast by Théoden to the memory of those who had given their lives in the defence of the people of Rohan, human and Elf alike. But soon the combination of freely flowing drink and the sheer exhilaration of being alive after such a battle took hold of the room, and the mood lightened. More than a few eyes widened in amazement when Sparrow entered in a flowing gown lent to her by Éowyn, and quickly altered to fit her as best it could. But even the most skilled seamstress would have found it hard to hide the fact that it was more form fitting than originally intended. Boromir, his confidence boosted by the ale he had already drunk on an almost empty stomach, was about to comment on the way the outfit left little, if anything to the imagination, when she cut him off.

"I have no less than six concealed weapons on my person at this very moment." She hissed though a fixed smile, "Any smart-assed remarks, and you get to find how sharp they are, one at a time."

"My apologies." the Captain of Gondor bowed his head, "Allow me to provide you with a drink."

"Aye, drink up." Gimli chuckled, a mischievous glint in his eye, "I'm going to show the Elf how real drinking is done!"

Sparrow took the offered tankard of ale and raised it to her friends. While the Fellowship may have failed in its original task, there was no denying that they had dealt the great enemy a blow he would not soon recover from. With Saruman contained and the armies of Isengard a bitter memory, it felt like the tide of the war was finally starting to turn in their favour. The blazing fire in the hearth, over which entire pigs and sides of beef were being roasted, gave the room a warm, friendly feel, making it easy to relax.

The night wore on, those of a lesser constitution either leaving for their homes or more often then not, simply falling into a drunken stupor in some quiet corner. Merry and Pippin, who were able to partake of a seemingly impossible amount of ale for their size yet suffer no apparent ill effect, took to dancing upon the tabletop, entertaining those still awake with a selection of drinking songs from the Shire. Even the normally stoic Gandalf seemed willing to indulge in the revelry, sitting in the corner, smoking his pipe as he watched the others with a content smile.

Sparrow slipped outside for a breath of fresh air, wrapping her arms around herself against the relatively cold night. She was almost startled when someone placed a tunic over her shoulders, and she looked around to find Boromir standing behind her. Something passed between them, unspoken yet clear, and she freely accepted the soft and tender kiss he placed upon her lips.

**To Be Continued...**


	14. A Less Certain Fate

_Little world-building towards the end in a bid to show just where  
__Albion lays compared to Middle Earth_

**Sparrow's Lament  
****Chapter 13: A Less Certain Fate**

The sound of movement woke Boromir, and he opened his eyes to find Sparrow reaching for the door to the room she had been given by the Rohirrim.

"Shouldn't I be the one sneaking out?" He asked somewhat dryly, "This is your room, after all."

"This is a conversation that I was hoping that we could avoid." Sparrow stopped with her hand on the door, but kept her back turned, "Last night was a mistake, one I think we should both do our best to forget about."

"Forget about..." Boromir sat up, the sheet slipping down but maintaining his modesty, "Is that how you truly feel?"

"Last night was..." Sparrow took a deep breath and turned around, "The only other man I've ever... been with, was my husband." She lent back against the door, "I was always faithful to him, and I know he was faithful to me, even when my work took me away for years at a time."

"And now you feel that you've betrayed that trust." Boromir nodded, understanding what was being left unsaid, "I know I never met him, but surly he wouldn't have begrudged you any happiness after his death?"

"No, no he wouldn't." Sparrow closed her eyes, "I just, don't want to cause you any pain."

"What do you mean?" Boromir stood, wrapping the sheet around his waist, "Why would you cause me pain?"

"I had a vision, after I was thrown from the wall." Sparrow tried to find the words to explain her experience, "I saw myself, as I could be if I give in to the darkness that lies in my blood, the same darkness that brought down the Old Kingdom. But I also had a glimpse of what awaits us beyond this world; a place where this is no pain or sorrow. And I could feel it calling to me, beckoning me to stop fighting and give in." She turned her face away, "I do not believe I would have the strength to resist its call a second time."

"You forget, you are not the only one who has seen the beyond grey veil." Boromir smiled as he walked over to her and ran a hand down the side of her face, wiping away her tears, "I saw the world that lies beyond death, before you pulled me back; an act I am very much grateful for. I know the allure if offers those of us who have seen and done so much in our lives, but we still have much to live for."

"But not now." Sparrow looked him in the eye, her resolve set, "I do not fully understand my feelings for you, and at another time, in another place, I might be willing to explore them further..."

"...but now is neither the time nor the place for such inquiries." Boromir accepted the truth to her words, either is he would rather it had been otherwise, "I should dress; the other's will be waking soon, and I would not want to give them cause to call your honour into question."

"I've survived worse." Sparrow kissed him tenderly, "But you're right, it's dawn, and there are still battles to face."

* * *

If anyone in the Golden Hall noticed the fact that they arrived late, and together, none mentioned it. As it was, Gandalf stood in the middle of the room, surrounded by the rest of the Fellowship, Théoden and his top advisers.

"There was no lie in Pippin's eyes. A fool... but an honest fool, he remains." The wizard looked down at the young Hobbit, who his his face in shame, "He told Sauron nothing of the Ring. We've been strangely fortunate. Pippin saw in the Palantir a glimpse of the enemy's plan. Sauron moves to strike Minas Tirith."

"_**No!**_" Boromir almost wailed, clutching at his chest as he felt an icy fist grab his heart.

"We will not allow that to happen." Aragorn assured him, "I will not allow it."

"If Gondor is to have any chance of holding Minas Tirith, they'll need help." Gimli grunted, "Haldir and the survivors of his company have returned to Lothlórien to tend their wounds and morn their dead." He glanced up at the slightly pained way Legolas was looking at him, "As is right and proper. My people have no armies this far south, not with the fall of Moria."

"That leaves only Rohan." Aragorn turned to face Théoden, "If Gondor calls, Rohan must be ready to come to her aid."

"And where was Gondor when the Westfold burned?" The king asked, his voice bitter, the smell of death and the sound of battle still fresh in his mind, "Where was Gondor, tell me, when my men bled and died to defeat Saruman?"

"Bleeding and dying to hold Osgiliath, to stop Sauron from pouring his armies west." Sparrow spoke up, "I know I am more of a stranger to these lands than any here, and as such my voice probably counts for little, but surely I can not be the only one who sees that this squabbling is playing into our mutual enemies hands? Sauron doesn't have the power to crush the Kingdoms of Man, or he would have done so already. Instead he uses pawns like Saruman to cut you off from one another so he can take you one at a time. Gondor must be warned of what is to come if there is any hope of stopping it," She glanced at Théoden, "regardless of what Rohan decides."

"I will go." Aragorn nodded.

"No." Gandalf shook his head.

"They must be warned." The ranger insisted.

"And they will be. I ride for Minas Tirith," the wizard looked over to Pippin, "and I won't be going alone."

"I will go as well." Boromir insisted, his tone offering no ground for argument, "I am captain of her guard, my father is the Steward; my word will count for more than any here." He glanced at Aragorn, "For now, at least."

* * *

Sparrow waited until the stable was almost empty before stepping out of the shadows, a slightly pained expression on her face.

"Running home after spending the night in my bed?" She asked dryly, kicking a few lose bits of straw almost absent-mindedly, "A woman could take that the wrong way."

"Believe me, I wish I was running away _with_ you _to_ your bed." Boromir smiled warmly. He looked around to make sure no one could see them, then kissed her deeply on the lips, "Come with us; I can show you the true glory that is Minas Tirith."

"Were it so easy." Sparrow sighed, pressing her body up against his, "I have more than a few fences to mend here before we can count on Théoden helping us. I fear I may have spoken out of place, and said too much."

"The Rohirrim favour plain speaking over platitudes and flattery." her lover assured her, "These lands, the people here, are ruled as much by the past as they are the present. People feud over insulted and slights that happened generations ago, war over grievances, the origins of which have been lost to living memory." He brushed a few stray hairs out of her face, "But you are from Albion, and bare no such burden: your actions and words are your own, and you will be judged on your own merits."

"Even so, it's best I stay." Sparrow nodded towards the saddled horse, "They've given you what they claim is the fastest horse in all of Rohan, and even then, Gandalf doesn't seem convinced you'll be able to keep up."

"Then I had better convince my father to call for aid so you can come ridding to the rescue." Boromir joked, "Although, I'm not sure my ego could take that."

"I'm sure you'll find a way." Sparrow laughed, "Now go; the other's are waiting for you."

"As my lady commands." Boromir pulled himself up into the saddle of his house, "Know this; no matter what the distance, or what enemies may stand in the way, I _will_ find you."

"I'll hold you to that." Sparrow smiled, then slapped the rump of the horse as hard as she dared, "_**HYAH!**_"

The horse galloped out to where Gandalf and Pippin waited on Shadowfax. The wizard pulled the reigns around, and they set off as fast as their mounts could carry them, soon becoming little more than spots in the distance.

"Speak you piece." Sparrow stood, looking out across the valley long after the riders had vanished from sight. "You've been hiding there long enough as it is."

"I did not know if it was my place." Aragorn appeared at her side, almost as if out of thin air, "It looked like the two of you wanted to be alone..."

"I don't know what I want, not any more." Sparrow shook her head and closed her eyes, "At first I came here to clear my debt with Theresa, but now I find myself drawn into something more complex and dangerous then I had ever imagined. At first I thought that maybe I would find my death on this quest, that I maybe at last allowed to rest." She turned to face her companion, "But now, now the path before me is nowhere near as clear as it once was. I have feeling for Boromir, feeling I never expected to know again, least not in this life. I am... at a loss for what to do next."

"Half of everything in life is luck; the other half is fate." The ranger shrugged, "Decide which you want this to be."

* * *

The next few days passed slowly: everyone knew that it would take time for the three riders to reach Gondor. Sparrow spent as much time as she could away from the Golden Hall, and Théoden, as she could manage. Thankfully there was much work for two strong arms and a strong back, allowing her to go from dawn to dusk without risking encountering him. There was no indication that he had taken offence at her words the morning after the feast, perhaps indicating that Boromir had been right, but she did not want to risk angering him further.

It was a little after dawn on the forth day when she came across Éowyn, sword in hand, slowly and carefully putting herself through a series of exercises that, sped up, would have been an effective combat strategy. She stood and observed the shield-maiden for a while, gauging her technique, her strengths and weaknesses.

"You leave yourself open when you strike to the left." She warned, pointing to Éowyn's exposed right flank, "Either keep your other arm up, or take a different stance."

"What stance would you suggest?" The younger woman asked, eager to learn from one who had lived by the sword and did not see her as a foolish girl playing at things better left to a man, "I can find few willing to train me."

"Hold your sword like this." Sparrow held her arms over her head, hands clasped together as if holding a sword, "In the Eastern Kingdom they call it _la posta del falcone_: the Guard of the Hawk." She mimicked striking down to the left and right, "You let the blades weight work for you, not against you."

"I have never heard of the Eastern Kingdom." Éowyn mirrored the stance, slashing down with her blade, "Is it far from here?"

Sparrow picked up an apple from a nearby table and made a mark on it with her knife

"Well, you have to travel east, past Mordor, until you come to what your people call the Outer Ocean. If you can find your way across that, you would come to the desolate shores of Aurora. While once home to a great civilization, it has long been overrun with endless sand and under the searing heat of the sun that hide long forgotten cities that rivalled anything the Old Kingdom had to offer. Then, to the north-east, across the Azure Sea, Albion." A wistful look came over Sparrows face as she thought of her distant homelands, "It's...I suppose it's not that unlike these lands. We have our town, cities and villages, separated by mountains and valleys and forests and lakes and rivers. It can be a clangours place to the unwary, but it is home. Beyond that, past the Mistpeak Mountains lays the Eastern Kingdom, then beyond that, Samarkand. Once, they were connected to Albion by the Great Road, but that has long since fallen into ruin and banditry. Then comes the Ocean of Storms, beyond which, or so I have been told, is the land of Valinor. Then its just a little hop across the Great Sea to these lands." She tossed the apple over to her companion, "The world. Or at least, the world as it was told to me by Theresa."

**To Be Continued...**


	15. Obligations

_Since posting the last chapter I have managed to find a job, which does, as you might expect,  
somewhat cut into my previously extensive free time, slowing somewhat the speed at which I write._

**Sparrow's Lament  
****Chapter 14: Obligations**

Time continued to drag; everyone knew that even on the fastest horses, Minas Tirith was several days hard ride away. And even then, there was no telling how long it would take Gandalf and Boromir to convince the latter's father, Denethor, Steward of Gondor, to call for aid. Many spoke of his pride, which some claimed bordered on foolhardiness, while others suggested that his mind had grown weak, his judgement questionable. Théoden seemed less willing then others to speculate as to the failings of his fellow ruler, but he seemed less than sure that the beacons would be lit.

For want of anything better to do, Sparrow took it upon herself to impart into Éowyn as much of her skill with a sword as she could. The shield-maiden was an eager student and followed every instruction without question, except when seeking clarification. What she lacked in strength and skill she made up for in perseverance and enthusiasm, often pushing herself to the point of exhaustion before finally agreeing to rest. Her hard work paid off, and she started to show a marked improvement now that she was under the tutelage of a willing instructor, rather than picking up what she could from watching others practice. Some of the Rohirrim questioned whether it was proper that any woman, let alone one of a noble house, be trained in the ways of war, but they soon fell silent at a sharp look from Sparrow.

Even so, they found it best to move their sparing sessions to a small brook some distance from Edoras, and disproving eyes.

"Good, good." The Hero observed her student as she put herself through a series of choreographed patterns of movement, her sword slicing cleanly through the air, "Again. And this time, imagine that you have a real live opponent."

Éowyn restarted her routine, imagining in her minds eye a bloodthirsty Orc before her. Her almost daydream like state caused her to miss-place her foot and she stumbled.

"No!" Sparrow snapped. "Again! Faster!"

Taking a deep breath, Éowyn began again, pushing herself harder, but her body was starting to tire and she again fumbled.

"Again!" Sparrow chastised her, "Faster!"

Her sword slicing through the air like a silver bolt, Éowyn pushed herself as hard as she could, instinctively improvising and improving as she went. She let go of her conscious self and allowed her body to guide her actions. Her muscles, having been put through the same actions so many times, remembered far quicker and more clearly than her head ever could. Everything around her faded away until there was just the sword; nothing remained but the edge of the blade. Without realising it, she started to stray from the ridged patterns Sparrow had taught her, changing them until they better fit her own strengths and weaknesses.

The pricing ring of steel on steel brought her back to reality, and she looked up to see Sparrow holding another of the blunt practice blades, a huge smile on her face.

"You've started to develop your own style." The Hero nodded in approval. "Good; you're learning something after all."

"I...would have thought you'd be upset." Éowyn breathed deeply, her body a mass of tension and overly exerted muscles, "I stopped following the moves you taught me."

"I always expected that you would." Sparrow laughed, "Now, let's see how well you do when someone's fighting back." She raised her blade, "Defend yourself!"

No sooner were the words out of her mouth then she swung her sword round so fast it was little more than a silver streak in the air, forcing Éowyn to take half a step back. The sound of metal clashing against metal filled the air as the Shield Maiden was first forced onto the defensive, then counter-attacked with renewed strength and speed. Sparrow carefully gauged her opponent's level of strength and skill, and limited herself to the same, not wanting to shatter the young woman's confidence, or risk hurting her. Eventually they reached a point where Éowyn's second wind started to fail her, and Sparrow called a halt to the session. The two of them made their way over to where their horses had been tied to a low branch, content to graze on the lush, green grass.

"I can see why your people settled here." Sparrow looked around, taking in the sweeping step and the mountains beyond, "This is good land; wide enough so that you don't feel fenced in, but defensible."

"Few people come out this way." Éowyn explained as she pulled herself up into the saddle, "They fear the Old Man of the Mountain."

"Excuse me?" Sparrow looked at her friend with more than a little trepidation, fearful that she had unintentionally led them into danger.

"The Old Man of the Mountain." Éowyn pointed towards where a nearby hill ended abruptly, leaving a sheer cliff-face, "It's what they call the carving over there; some say that, back in the days of Helm Hammerhand, it would awaken and speak to those brave enough to approach it."

"That's... interesting." Sparrow looked at the distant hillside; they were too far away to make out any features, "Would you show me?"

"It's a little out of our way, but I don't see why not." Éowyn turned her horse around, and led the way across the open grassland towards the cliff-face.

There wasn't much to look at, up close; what time and the elements hadn't worn away, moss and ivy had covered with a thick layer of green. All that was left was an outline that could some what vaguely be called that of a man's face, but only in a good light. Sparrow looked up at it, somewhat disappointed, then turned to her companion.

"From what you had said, I half expected to find a Demon Door..."

The words were no sooner out of her mouth then there was a deep, booming crack, and the two horses reared up, almost throwing their riders.

"AVALANCHE!" Éowyn warned, her eyes darting about for the first rocks to come tumbling down.

But the only movement was the face itself; it seemed to bulge out from the hillside, shaking away the greenery that had covered it while regaining the soft, lifelike lines that it had lost over the years. It yawned deeply, a sound not unlike the grinding of a mill stone, then its eyes opened, and despite their lack of features, they were clearly examining the two startled riders before them.

"Many years has it been since anyone disturbed my slumber. Longer still since anyone recognised me for who and what I am." It spoke in a deep, rich baritone, like the rumble of distant thunder on a summers day, "Once, an age ago, my brothers and I kept watch over these lands, but the slow passage of time had claimed them all, save me. I am the last Demon Door of Rohan, and I will open for no one."

"It was I who awoke you, old one." the Hero straightened herself up as best she could while astride a still skittish horse, "I am Sparrow, of Albion."

"Albion, you say?" The Door loomed over her, examining her closely, "Can it be, that after all these long centuries, I can fulfil my oath?"

"Your oath?" Éowyn asked, refusing to show any fear or hesitation.

"Almost five hundred years ago, a Hero named Briar Rose travelled these lands in search of knowledge." The stone face explained, "She saved me from a Troll that sort to carve me out of this very hillside, and in return bade me to keep safe a relic she had uncovered, until such time as another member of the Heroes Guild passed this way. At first I thought it would be the work of decades, a century at most, but here I am, still waiting."

"Your wait is over." Sparrow pulled her guild seal out and held it up, "I am the last Hero of the Guild."

"A mere trinket." The mystical portal chortled in response, "No doubt stolen, I might add..."

Her eyes narrowing at the implied insult to her honour, Sparrow raised her right hand, palm up, and summoned her Will. A blot of lighting leapt skyward, and a rumble of thunder echoed out across the valley.

"I had to be sure, you see?" The Door smiled, as if a great weight had been lifted off of its metaphorical shoulders. "But now, now I can at last go to my rest."

There was a sharp cracking sound, and the face seemed to split in two as the cliff opened up, revealing a swirling vortex. Sparrow dismounted her horse, taking care to tie the reins to a nearby rock, and walked towards the portal.

"Where are you going?" Éowyn asked, somewhat confused by everything she had just seen.

"A great Hero, one I have read about in the Guild Histories, placed something here for safe keeping." Sparrow explained, "Only a fool would use a Demon Door to hide a trinket, and Briar Rose was no fool. I intend to recover it, and if possible, make use of it."

"But..." The Shield Maiden looked at the portal somewhat apprehensively.

"Trust me; I've passed through at least a dozen of these." Sparrow did her best to reassure her, "Some of them can lead to the most amazing of places."

Not wanting to show fear before her friend and mentor, Éowyn stepped forward, and the two of them passed through together. The first thing they noticed upon reaching the other side was the cold. It was a special kind of dry, bitter cold that stole the very breath from their lungs and cut into any exposed flesh it could find. They quickly pulled their riding cloaks around their shoulders as they took in their surroundings. They seemed to be at one end of a short tunnel or hallways; the floor, walls, and celling of which seemed to be made out of semi-translucent ice that sparked. The only illumination came from the softly glowing portal behind them, lending the chamber an ethereal quality. The only options were to press on or return to Rohan empty handed, condemning the Demon Door to maintain his lonely vigil for an unknown number of years to come.

Faced with such stark choices, they carefully made their way along the passage, the crunching of ice under their feet the only sound. The passageway turned sharply to the left a little way ahead, and Sparrow was worried that they would lose the light offered by the open portal, a cold, fresh light awaited them. They rounded the corner to find the passageway ended abruptly in a balcony that jutted out from the side of a sheer mountainside. Across a wide, deep valley they could make out a range of jagged, snow-capped mountains, the peaks of which had been carved into statues of such titanic proportions that they seemed impossible. While those further away were lost in cloud, they could clearly see that the nearest one depicted a bald man, dressed in only a loincloth with his arms held out wide. In the palm of one had blazed a mighty fire, while the other cupped a ball of glowing light. The statues gaze seemed to zero in on the two interlopers, with amused, if slightly mischievous, expression.

"That's...not something you see every day." Sparrow swallowed deeply, "It has to be a relic of the Old Kingdom, it's the only explanation."

"Look!" Éowyn pointed down into the valley, where the snow on the ground was far thinner, and there were still patches of green grass to be seen.

"By the Lords of Light!" Sparrow gasped; carved into the very stone of the mountainside was a massive city, a maze of turrets, battlements and buttresses, all lit from within, a clear sign of habitation. "In all my travels, I have never seen or heard of such a place."

"We shouldn't linger here." Éowyn warned, her arms and legs already starting to grow numb in the intense cold. "We can come back again, another day, better prepared."

"A good plan if ever I heard one." Looking around, Sparrow located an ornate silver and obsidian chest with a Guild lock. Pressing her seal against it, she was relived to see the expected burst of light indicating that the wards protecting it were still intact, and lifted open the lid.

Inside sat a gleaming war-hammer, a quartet of argument crystals embedded in the hilt. One head was a classic blunt hammer, intended to deal blunt force trauma, while the other was a curved axe head for slicing and hacking. The long grip was wrapped in old leather, ending in a loop that the wielder could slip their wrist through to avoid losing it should their grip fail them mid-battle. Even to someone with her increased strength, there was an unmistakable weight to the weapon as she lifted it from its resting place.

"Devastation, Divine Favour, Divine Luck and Flame." She examined the augments one by one. "A weapon for fighting evil if ever there was one." She closed her eyes, and let the hammers history flow into her mind, "This weapon is named _Archon's Fury_, forged to bring an end to evil and tyranny wherever they were found."

"It's beautiful." Éowyn agreed, "But shouldn't we be going now?"

**To Be Continued...**


	16. First Blood

_My new job has ended up taking up a lot more of my time than I first thought.  
__Then_ Halo 4 _came out.  
__Then I was hit by writers block.  
__Some of you might find the violence in this chapter a little graphic, so be warned._

**Sparrow's Lament  
****Chapter 15: First Blood **

The relative warmth of Rohan compared to the ice cavern struck Sparrow with a near physical blow as she stepped back through the shimmering portal, Éowyn a step behind. That shock, coupled with the echoing crack of the Demon Door closing behind them, distracted them for a moment, and it wasn't until she heard the drawing of a bow-string that Sparrow looked up to see a dozen heavily armed riders surrounding them in a semi-circle. Her eyes instinctively snapped around to where her horse stood with her sword, shield and gauntlets sitting tantalisingly just out of reach.

"Wildmen of Dunland." Éowyn warned, fear creeping into her voice, "Allies of Saruman."

"Keep behind me." Sparrow advised, feeling the weight of the _Archon's Fury_ in her hands, and turned to face the strangers, "I have no quarrel with..."

"Tha may be, but Aa've a quarrel wi any whee stands wi Rohan." their apparent leader spoke, his accent so thick it was almost incomprehensible, "They stole my peoples lands, drove us into the hills, and they hev the nerve to caal us bandits?"

"None of those who now live committed such an offence, or were offended by it." Sparrow looked for some way to diffuse the situation before it went any further; while she was sure she could handle the riders with ease, she was not sure she could do so while also preventing any harm coming to Éowyn. "You fight them now because it's all you know. Enough blood has been shed; let it end."

"It will end when Edoras lays in ashes," The Dunlending bared his ragged teeth, "an the blood of Théoden lays spent upon the ground!"

"As you wish." Sparrow closed her eyes as she felt the augment crystals in the hammer she held come to life, flames enveloping the head, "What blood is split now is on your hands and your hands alone..."

The first archer let fly even as the last word crossed her lips.

Without her gauntlets, Sparrow was unable to blend her Will, but that was not to say she was incapable of wielding the power. Lashing almost instinctively, she unleashed a blast of Force Push, shattering the arrow in the air and unsaddled the rider even as she started to move towards her nearest opponent. The war-hammer left a bright, burning trail in its wake as it arced through the air, the power of the augments it containing turning it into something more than a mere weapon. It struck its target with enough force to cleave through armour and shatter bone, sending the Wildmen tumbling from his mount, his tunic smouldering.

Sparrow didn't give the others time to react; she cast a quick blast of Confusion even as she continued on over the back of the rearing horse. Landing hard upon the stony ground, she let her momentum carry her round into a forward roll, letting her spring back to her feet in front of her next opponent. Without the time to bring the hammer round for full effect, she simply rammed the head into his chest as hard as she could. There was a sickening, wet crack as his ribs and sternum gave way, puncturing both of his lungs and taking him out of the fight as he started to drown on his own blood. But Sparrow didn't even slow down, leaping over his shoulder to land atop her next target. The man was somewhat surprised to find his head caught between her knees, but his surprise died as she twisted her hips sharply, snapping his neck like a dry twig.

Ridding his body to the ground, Sparrow used the momentum it gave her to dive under the path of a hastily loosed arrow, its razor sharp edge slicing through a few stray strands of hair as it passed less than an inch from the nape of her neck. Back on her feet, she feinted left and dodged right, narrowly avoiding the hooves of a rearing horse, then ducked under its riders sword. She responded with another quick blast of Confusion, aimed at the horse rather than its master. The animal stood stock still for a moment, then fell over sideways, pinning its riders leg under its mass as it continued to stare into nothingness.

The battle had lasted only a few seconds, but already her opponents, skilled fighters to a man, were starting to react. Those with arrows ready let them fly, while others drew swords or raised clubs and axes. The air around her became a storm of flesh and metal that she was forced to work harder to dance through. More than once she felt the burning agony of steel piercing her flesh, each cut and knick a distraction she could ill afford. She swung her hammer round in wide arcs, the flaming head shattering bone and searing flesh. Screams of pain filled her air, while the sick, roast-pork like scent of burning flesh assaulted her nostrils. Her mind momentarily flashed back to the vision she had seen during the fighting at Helms Deep, of the inevitable fate that awaited her should she embrace the darker impulses that had laid low her ancestors kingdom.

It was a momentary distraction, but a distraction none the less.

Seizing his opportunity, the leader of the Wildmen struck out at the back of her head with the hilt of his sword. The blow would have killed or incapacitated most seasoned of warriors, and even to a Hero like Sparrow, it was jarring and made her knees buckle. A booted foot swung up and caught her in the gut, driving the air from her lungs and making bile rise high in the back of her throat. A hail of fists, feet, elbows, and bludgeons rained down upon her exposed back and neck, forcing her to her hands and knees. With her vision growing increasingly dim around the edges, Sparrow reacted instinctively.

A great bolt of lightning, as thick as a tree trunk and blinding to look at, joined heaven and earth for one terrible moment, hurling those assailing Sparrow backwards. A deafening crack of thunder echoed off the nearby cliff face, striking all in the vicinity with a near physical force in its own right. The Wildmen reeled under the sudden and unexpected attack, dazed and shaken by their first real taste of Will. A scream filled the air before Sparrow could take advantage of their disorientation, and she looked round to see Éowyn struggling to defend herself with nothing but one of the wooden practice swords. Her opponents axe hacked away at the hard wood, sending jagged splinters flying in all directions even as Sparrow raced to intercept. Others blocked her way, and she found herself forced to knock them aside with the pummel of her hammer even as Éowyn lost her footing and fell to the ground. The Wildman stood over her, axe raised high, ready to split her skull in two, but the young Shield Maiden's body worked far faster than her mind. Gripping the all but useless wooden sword with both hands, she thrust it upwards with all the strength she could muster. Leather and flesh gave way as the jagged wooden point sliced upwards strait and true, the splintered tip piercing the man's heart. A look of utter surprise flashed across his face even as the light of life dimmed to nothingness in his hazel eyes. His body slumped forward, impaling itself even further on the weapon that had killed him before falling to the side, the axe dropping from his lifeless hands and landing in the grass with a soft thud.

Sparrow had no time to contemplate her friend's situation as she once again found herself face to face with the leader of the Wildmen, his massive sword already stained by her blood from where it had cut her across the arms and back. His eyes were full of amusement and hate, like a wolf savouring the coming death of a wounded bear. But, much like a wolf, he had forgotten that a bear is at its most dangerous when wounded. He lunged forward, relying on his longer reach to get inside her defences. But he had failed to take into account Sparrow's strength, which due to her Heroic nature, was far beyond that which her build might otherwise imply. Parrying the clumsy thrust, she spun round, travelling the length of the deflected blade even as she brought her war-hammer round in a wide arc. Leaving a comet-like trail of golden flame in its wake, the ancient weapon seemed to burn the very air as it went. There was a loud crack, followed by a dull, muted thud as the Wildman's skull shattered under the blow. His jaw snapped clean off even as his left eye was popped clean out of its socket. He was dead before he had time to register the blow, his body dropping to the ground like a felled tree.

Faced with the death or disabling of their comrades, the last two of the raiders jerked their horses round and spurned them away, kicking and shouting at them to hasten their escape. But Sparrow was in no mood to allow them to get off so easily. Grabbing a dropped axe with one hand, and short-sword with the other, she took careful aim and flung first one, then the other. The deadly projectiles scythed through the air straight and true, each catching their intended victims square in the back. Mortally wounded, the riders slumped forwards in their saddles even as their mounts struggled to carry them to safety.

An odd stillness came over the hillside, broken only by the receding thunder of the two fleeing horses. Sparrow took several deep breaths, working hard to lower his heartbeat and regain full control of her body now that the red-mist of battle had passed. Looking around, she saw that Éowyn sat on the fallen tree that they had tethered their own horses too, unable to take her gaze off of the man she had killed.

"Your first?" Sparrow asked, getting only a faint nod in response. She sat down beside Éowyn, her voice calm and void of any condescension or mollycoddling, "I was seventeen the first time I took a life, just after I started out on my quest to kill Lucien Fairfax. A bandit named Tharg and his gang were attacking travellers on the road to the town of Bowerstone, and I didn't have time to wait for the guards to deal with it. I was young, reckless, and more than a little cocky, having just discovered the truth of my lineage. So with a rusty old mace I had found in the ruins of the old Heroes Guild and a pistol that was probably more of a threat to me than anyone I pointed it at..."

"What's a pistol?" Éowyn asked, her voice somewhat distant.

"It's...kind of like a small crossbow. I've not seen or heard mention of any since I arrived her from Albion. I don't know if they have made it this far yet, which is probably for the best, all things considered. Anyway, thus armed, I set out to deal with Tharg and his band all on my own, and I very nearly got into a lot of trouble. Their camp was easy enough to find, which should have been my first clue that something was amiss, but I was too full of myself to see the trap I was walking into. Four of them dropped down out of the trees, surrounding me, weapons drawn. Now they were slavers, which meant that, if they took me alive... well, you can probably imagine what they would have done to me. But I didn't think about that, not until later when my blood cooled down and I started to look back at what happened. It goes without saying that I overcame them, but even now I can still see the face of that first bandit who stood before me. He was no older than I was, thin, his cloths little more than rags, probably driven to banditry in order to survive. But I shot him, right here, between the eyes, without a second thought." Sparrow tapped the bridge of her nose, "He was dead before he hit the ground, but I had already moved on to the next target. It wasn't until that night, when I stopped to make camp on the road to Bowerstone, that I realised the enormity of what I had done. I was physically sick when I remembered the look of fear on his face as he squared off against me, and the fact that he had been so terrified that he had lost control of his bladder."

"How do you learn to forget?"

"They fade, over time; new faces replace the old, and are in turn replaced. But that first one... I can only speak for myself, but that boy's face will remain with me until the day I die. I think it's important that we remember them, less killing becomes too easy."

**To Be Continued...**


End file.
